Embracing Absurdism
by EmpyrealFantasy
Summary: ºHarry/Balthierº Wherein magic opens eyes long closed to the world, tearing down walls previously unscaled. And two jaded souls might find something more than treasure in the ruins thereof. ºPost DH, in-game, challenge ficº
1. When Fortune Intervenes

**~~▫ộ» I solemnly swear I am up to no good «ộ▫~~**

Disclaimer: JKR and Square own the rights to all characters contained herein.

**PAIRING:** Harry Potter / Balthier Bunansa

**SUMMARY:** Wherein magic opens eyes long closed to the world, tearing down walls previously unscaled. And two jaded souls might find something more than treasure in the ruins thereof.

**WARNINGS: Spoilers and Canon corruption: **Canon through the end of Deathly Hallows, no epilogue. Alternate retelling of the game; large and spanning changes due to Harry's presence but some things really will still happen, as FFXII is still about Ashe and her restoration. Harry does not steal the central role of the actual FFXII storyline or reason for the journey. He's just the main character of the fic and the one we'll hear most about. **Sex:** In an M-rated kind of way, there will eventually be sexing between our sexy leading men. **Violence: **Because what is a good fantasy without it? **Language:** Yep.

Chapter titles are lines from songs in the musical _Into the Woods_.

* * *

**Embracing Absurdism  
**_There are rights and wrongs and in-betweens; no one waits when fortune intervenes._

* * *

The Elder Wand rebounded harmlessly off of Harry's chest; he was unable to move to catch it in his shock. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse(1), and Harry stood utterly still with his eyes wide.

He had _done it_.

Months of fighting against the greatest evil the Wizarding world had ever seen was over in a sob of momentum, an anticlimactic moment of reversal that made his entire life fall full-circle. He had defeated the man as accidentally as he had as a baby, Voldemort's own actions causing him to become the corpse that was staring in shock towards the enchanted ceiling. Harry couldn't believe he had done it. Hiding in tents, his fight with Ron, the deaths of those he held dear... it was all worth it, wasn't it?

The hall broke into a cacophony of cheering witches and wizards, people screaming and sobbing all around him. He could almost feel the pressure building as people tried to decide whether it was safe to approach him.

Harry breathed his first breath as a free man, foot lifting and falling as he stepped toward the Elder Wand. It lay innocuous on the stone floor, but panic seized Harry nonetheless. He didn't want that wand. Yes, Dumbledore had been able to remain its master for decades, but he was no Dumbledore. He was ordinary, plain Harry Potter, and damn everyone who said otherwise. He wasn't strong enough to bear the curse of _that_ wand.

One step and then another, the wand drawing closer. Harry's fingers twitched at his side as he drug his feet, the long hours since the attack had begun wearing him down. His inattention nearly sent him walking directly into the next thing to catch his attention... a strange disruption in the air.

It glowed. Harry gazed around and found himself nearly in the center of the hall, directly between where he and Voldemort had stood. Golden tones coalesced in the air, twining around themselves hypnotically. For a brief moment Harry found himself reflected there, and he stepped back with trepidation. It was where his Expelliarmus and Voldemort's Avada Kedavra had collided. Was this some remnant of the joining? Something like the Priori Incantatem that had joined their wands in his fourth year?

"Harry!"

He looked up to see Hermione pushing her way through the crowd, Ron behind her with a matching grin. Even with the tragedies of the day, the two still smiled for him, eyes searching his out and holding them. He took a step away from the odd mist, knowing that if anyone could tell him what it was, Hermione could.

His foot fell oddly, and Harry's automatic reaction was to look down as his balance left him. The Elder Wand lay beneath his heel, rolling his foot away even as he fought for balance.

His last thought as he over-checked himself and fell forward into the golden mist was that the wand's curse worked quickly.

"HARRY!"

* * *

"What have you found there, sir?"

Consciousness did not slowly lull Harry into waking – it pounced on him, hurling sounds into his mind and blasting light through his clenched eyelids. The sound of metal clashing with metal echoed everywhere; they mixed with screams of pain and inhuman roars filled with rage and lust for battle. Had he been wrong, was Voldemort still alive? Was Hogwarts under attack?

A gunshot exploded to his left, and Harry watched with watering eyes as a sword skittered across the stone floor. Guns? Swords? What in the world was happening? He could hardly even open his eyes, let alone sit up to ask where he was.

Harry heard an echoing curse coming from behind him. "I'm not sure; he fell from above," said a hollow voice, deep and rumbling. Something hard prodded Harry's side. "Lift him."

"Yes, Judge Zecht."

Hard fingers dug under his arm, lifting him from the ground. Harry moaned and tried to slip out of the painful grip. His chin was seized between cool metal, head forced back. He met the eyes of a suit of armor, brow drawn into a scowl and ferocious metal horns protruding from its head, curling in a spiral to either side like an aged ram's horns.

"It is just a boy," the suit of armor muttered, and the fingers left his face.

"What would you have us do with him, sir?"

"He may be a spy. Throw him in with the other prisoners or slit his throat. I have no time for this; the Doctor has set a task for me. This battle has been a route, and the enemy is weak. Now is the time to strike their home. I must make haste for Nabudis to slay the last of our opposition."

The hands on him let go, sending Harry crashing to the ground. He cried out as he landed on his elbow. Where was he? What in the hell was happening? He wished more than anything that he could sit up, run, find his wand. Vaguely he made out the larger figure with the horned helmet moving toward a shock of yellow; was that a _bird_?!

"S-Sir?"

"Be gone, Michley," he bellowed, waving an arm. "Take the boy and go below."

"Yes, sir! As you say, Judge Zecht."

A hand twisting in the back of his robes, his shirt, choking the air from his throat as he was dragged across the stone floor. Harry finally fought back, lunging away from the body that dragged him and dropping into a roll. His knees smashed painfully into the stone. He gritted his teeth and scrambled for a weapon, finding a rock and throwing it just as his arm was seized. He heard the hollow 'tang' as it bounced off the metal armor of his captor.

"Little shit, stop your fighting. You're lucky I don't plan to leave your corpse amongst the many! Stop your damned fighting!" The soldier – Michley, the deep-voiced man had called him – swung him around, flinging him across the floor. Harry opened his eyes to meet the glazed, shocked ones of a corpse. He screamed.

It was also the last sight he had before he heard his captor curse and something hard made contact with the back of his head, sending Harry falling into darkness.

* * *

"You. Boy, wake up."

Blood pounded behind Harry's eyes, a headache rivaling the pain of a Cruciatus roaring across his temples and clenching the muscles in his neck. He didn't think he could open his eyes if he tried. He grunted instead, flinching as a cool hand pressed to his forehead.

"You must wake. They will not serve us if you are not awake when they bring sustenance."

Harry pried his eyes open, squinting as he realized how blurred everything was. He looked towards the man made up of blurred tones of gold. Apparently his squinting gave the man a clue to his problem, as he shuffled around out of Harry's eyeshot and held up a familiar pair of frames. Harry slipped them on. "Where am I?"

Something made the man stand suddenly, hunched at the waist, eyes narrowed as he took a step back. "The dungeons of Nalbina Fortress, a place of wastrels and malefactors. A more hellish squalor there has never been."

Harry sucked in a breath, the pain in his head dimming to a low throb. "_A prison_?"

"Indeed. I know not what you did to be condemned here, but one as young as you should not waste away when they can help it. The guards come now."

Harry then took note of the rattle of metal in the cavernous area he was in, and he lifted himself onto his elbows; it made his head swim to move even that much and he felt momentarily like he would faint. He was surrounded by a patchwork of metal, bits welded together into a lopsided cage. In some places he thought he might be able to slip his head through the bars, and in other places he doubted he could wiggle through his hand. The room was a cavern filled with many other makeshift cells, occupants huddled in their corners. Panic set in slowly through the unreality of the situation, crawling up his back with rubbery, dead fingers. He was in a prison.

It reminded him of what he had always thought Azkaban would look like. A place bereft of hope, of light. Dirt and dust seemed to constantly swirl around the cages, making even the air unclean. What dingy light there was came from holes in the oddly domed ceiling, tainted by the sand that seemed to drift constantly in. This was surely hell, and Harry found himself scared out of his mind. He didn't know where he was, he knew no one around him, and he didn't have a single clue how he'd gotten there.

The clank of metal grew louder, and a mass of armored men entered the cave. Seven of them, one for each cage, spreading out and throwing small woven bags through the bars. "That's all you lot get for the next three days, so you'd best make it last, scum."

The one standing in front of their own cage dangled the bag against the bars, chuckling. "And 'ere we 'ave the traitor. Lookin' a bit peaky there, aren't cha?"

Harry turned his eyes slowly to his cellmate, who was crouched near the back of the small enclosure with clenched fists. He didn't respond to the taunting. He was golden blond with a strong jaw line and held his head proudly. The mottled purple bruising across an entire side of his face didn't seem to detract from that.

"Oh? Y'don't want food then, traitor?" Another guard chortled. "How the great Basch fon Ronsenburg 'as fallen, ey? Did you hear about your princess? Offed herself in grief! One night and we managed to take down the entire royal family without even tryin'! Thanks fer your help on that. Woulda never been able to get the king without ya."

The blond man – Basch, Harry now knew his name was – slumped suddenly, a slack-jawed sorrow overtaking his features. He seemed to curl in on himself as the guards jeered, joined quickly by another. Prisoners in other cages began staring towards theirs, and even over the laughter of the guards Harry could hear the murmurs beginning.

"Shit, the commander's coming. We need to move on."

The guards turned to the man by the mouth of their odd cavern and scoffed, shuffling towards him. "Commander wouldn't grudge us a little fun, would he?"

"You don't know 'im well if you think 'e wouldn't. Didn't you 'ear about Judge Magister Zecht? Just last year we lost Judge Fframan to desertion, and now we lost a _Magister_. Commander wants to move up in the world, y'know?

The raucous voices of the guards faded as they slipped back out into the hall, leaving Harry to look back at the prisoners. Light was waning quickly, but he could clearly see that not all of the figures were human. One had a snout nearly as long as Harry's arm, and was currently reaching through the bars to scrabble at the ground.

The first stone thrown bounced harmlessly off the bars of their cage, but Harry felt dread as he saw other prisoners take up the idea. Rocks, handfuls of dirt, twisted knots of rusted metal, whatever they could find was soon flying at their cell and at one occupant in particular.

"Murderer!"

"Traitor!"

"How could you? You've doomed us all!"

The voices were hoarse from disuse, but anger was apparent nevertheless. And all the while his cellmate sat deadly still, breathing hitching to belie his apparent comatose state. Even as a chunk of something bounced through the rails and into his neck, leaving a gash, he didn't move.

And with the revelations, Harry could not feel bad for him, even if some small bit of him wondered if grief that strong could be faked.

* * *

It was another two hours before Harry moved.

The darkness gave Harry a lot of time to think. His heart ached as quiet set in on him, and the realities of his long day finally set in. He had killed Voldemort. Years of pain and suffering was ended, because the Killing Curse had rebounded and taken out his arch nemesis. And on top of that, he had lost several people important to him. Tonks, Remus, Fred, Dobby... even Colin was a loss he mourned.

Things had both fallen apart and come together all in such a small space of time, only to fall apart once more. He hadn't imagined when he'd crept through that passage into Hogwarts that it would herald the end of his war with Voldemort. He hadn't ever really thought people would die. No matter how many losses he sustained, he never came out of it realizing others could die just as quickly, just as easily. When Sirius had fallen through the veil, Harry had mourned, but had thought that nothing worse could possibly happen. When Snape had killed Dumbledore, Harry had been shocked that death had touched his life again, crushed and vengeance-ridden.

But then another year had passed. The loss of Hedwig had been hard to bear; losses like those of Mad-Eye were inconsequential when he had so many other things in his mind. But for death to strike him so swiftly and so close to home... it made him want to claw at his skin, pull out whatever disease made everyone close to him die. His mind knew better than this, of course; Hermione and Ron still lived, Ginny still waited for him. Beyond these truths, though, laid the sight of his mother, father, Sirius and Remus gathered around him. The resurrection stone might have given him needed strength, but it had left deep scars in its wake. But now was no time to mourn, now was a time for action.

These dungeons, Nalbina, were obviously muggle. He felt no magic there, and the armor on the guards made his reality very obvious. There was so little that was familiar, not scents nor clothing nor names, but he could at least deduce the lack of wizards. It was too dark to see, but Harry sat up slowly and ran his fingers over his pockets, nearly sobbing in relief as he felt the familiar shape of a wand tucked there. As he moved to pull it out, his fingers brushed a soft bundle and he knew that his birthday gift from Hagrid, the mokeskin (2) pouch, had also not been removed.

He extracted the wand and sucked in a breath of pain. This was not Draco Malfoy's wand that he had become so familiar with. This was foreign and the magic pulsed oddly in his hand, roiling and leeching the air around it. He resisted the urge to throw it away from him and instead set it down gently at his feet, swallowing hard. His fingers shook as he tried to remove the mokeskin from his belt, the ties tangling infuriatingly. He couldn't see to remove them so he tugged and hoped it would give, which it did. In the dark he couldn't see the contents, but he felt through them to see what had remained.

The prickly ends of his snapped wand were found first, followed by a muffled curse as it stabbed a finger. Harry ignored the pang of pain that thoughts of the wand always brought. He moved more gently now, managing not to stab himself on the jagged edges of Sirius's mirror, and the cool metal of the locket made Harry need to pause to again swallow emotion. And there was parchment, the only remnant of his mother that he had in the form of a letter that no longer held any meaning but for the swoosh of Lily Potter's g's and the idea of his mother's tangibility.

None of that would help right now, though. Harry pulled his hand from the pouch and closed the flap, moving without joy for the Elder Wand. It was something, and it could help him. He forced his fingers to curl around the cool wood and pushed himself up into a crouch. Apparation. He concentrated on the edge of Hogsmeade, balancing his weight on his toes as he spun.

Nothing happened.

He tried again, choking on a sound of frustration. Perhaps the place was not as muggle as it seemed. Anti-Apparation wards often felt the same. Or perhaps the area was formerly owned by wizards? Wards could stay up for centuries with little maintenance.

Harry pushed away the questions shifted onto his knees, feeling along the bars of the cage. The latch was rudimentary at best and the chain felt weak, but Harry didn't think breaking it was a good idea. It would be loud and attention-getting, something that was quite not preferable in the current situation.

He found the padlock and wriggled his arm through the scrap metal, hissing as a jagged edge caught his arm and tore it. He pressed a bit further until he could bend at the elbow, touching the wand to the lock. _"Alohomora."_

Nothing happened.

Frustration made Harry's brow tick, and panic slowly burnt the back of his throat like bile. "_Alohomora."_ he hissed more forcefully, jabbing the wand against the padlock. It creaked mildly, but did not break. Only the knowledge that being without a wand would be disastrous kept him from breaking the thing in his anger, instead he yanked his arm back into the cage and jammed the wand into his pouch, then moving everything into his pocket.

Harry rocked back on his heels, pulling off his glasses and pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. He had to get out of this place. Surely people would be searching for him, wouldn't they? Hermione, Ron, Ginny... all three of them would not stop until they found him. Harry was sure of it. But he couldn't just wait in some unknown muggle dungeon until they came; he needed to escape and find out where in the bloody hell he was.

A creak was all the warning he got before the loud, reverberating clang of metal on metal rent the air. Harry spun on his heel and fell onto his backside, eyes wide as he caught the vague silhouette of his cellmate. Basch didn't speak a word, but in the faint moonlight Harry could see him move forward... through the bars.

He'd broken the bars.

Prisoners stirred in the cages around them, but Harry didn't pay them any mind. Instead he slipped through the broken area Basch had created and was running as soon as he could straighten up.

In retrospect, that hadn't been his brightest idea.

Within minutes guards had noticed him, and though he was small and agile, without magic Harry found himself cornered in minutes. He tripped over his own feet or some unseen obstacle in the dark, head colliding with the stone floor and bringing his headache back with a vengeance.

"Stupid kid!"

Fingers, slick and hot, wound around his neck, jerking him to his feet. He gagged as he was held inches off the ground by the fingers digging into his throat. The man was in what could only be nightclothes, sneer twisting his face viciously.

"Y'think you're getting anywhere? Scrawny little brat, are you some kind of moron or what?"

He was thrown to the ground as the guard bellowed that he was found, the clank of metal heralding that they had heard him. Harry gasped for air against the floor, digging in his fingers as he made to lever himself up. He couldn't give up like this. Couldn't. Magic or no magic, he had to get out of this place!

He pushed off, ready to put all his years of running from Dudley into practice, but a boot stepping down hard on his back stopped him. "Y'really _are_ a moron. 'Magine that."

"Got the little one, Commander Petel?"

"Yeh, that I do."

"They caught the traitor trying to fight his way out with nothing but a damned iron bar. He's been sent to the lower levels. What would you like done about this one, boss?"

The burly man scoffed and the foot on Harry's back pushed him flipped him over. "We still don't know who the brat is, so take 'im down with the traitor. Hang them both over the hole. That might teach 'em."

"Yes, sir!"

Harry paled.

* * *

"What in the world is a chocobo?"

He hadn't really expected an answer, but the way that his companion didn't bother to even twitch annoyed him anyway.

"So, this snooty git Vayne... why's he got it in for you so bad? It gets really old listening to his same taunts every week..."

His shoulder itched. Harry turned his head in an attempt to rub the spot, jabbing his chin into himself and shaking his head. A hiss from behind him told him that his cellmate was not pleased with the way he made their cage swing. Harry ignored him. It had been six bloody _months_ since he'd been chained up in the new (sadly much better made) cell with his companion, and Basch had yet to speak a word to him. Harry wondered if Basch blamed him for their capture.

They were suspended above a cavernous pit that faded into true blackness, and Harry stared into that dark now, shoulders aching over his head. He did rudimentary pull-ups as often as he dared, if only to keep the limbs from atrophying in their disuse. His cellmate did not like that much, though Harry was tolerant enough when Basch did the same.

He missed his friends. He closed his eyes and thought of Ron and Hermione often, imagined they were there with him. It distressed him that their images were already blurring in his mind. But he kept them alive in all the ways he could, fantasizing conversations they would have with him and developments in their lives. He imagined them married by now, and perhaps Hermione even had a little one on the way. It wasn't likely, not with Hermione's sensible nature, but stranger things had been known to happen. He hoped they were content in whatever they had chosen.

He wondered if Ginny had moved on yet. He hoped she had, as he only wanted her happiness. He hadn't been right for her anyway, no matter how little she would have believed that. She deserved better than a boy who knew nothing of how to behave when there wasn't a threat to his life, let alone of how to treat a woman. She deserved someone who could challenge her and give her the peaceful life she wished for. Even if he hadn't been whisked off to... wherever he was, he doubted they could have made a lasting, meaningful relationship together. It hurt him to think of that, though.

The damned itch was back again. Harry once again bent his head to the side and poked at the itch with his chin, wriggling back and forth in a fruitless attempt at relief. He supposed he would have to wait until mealtime to get rid of the itch, but that was nothing new. Patience, if nothing else, was a trait he had learned.

They were let down out of their chains to eat, and conversation came with the jeering guards or the occasional noble that came to question Basch. Harry was lost more often than not when the people spoke, but he had slowly begun compiling information. His cellmate, former military Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg, had apparently been framed for the murder of his country's king. Some drawn-out plot involving his twin brother, which seemed awfully convenient if Harry's opinion was asked, and a hostile takeover ensued. There was a Princess assumed dead that was actually in hiding – this information was courtesy of a stuck-up git named Vayne who sometimes came to heckle Basch – and Basch himself was reported as executed, but was being kept alive as blackmail against some nobleman.

It was so convoluted that Harry thought it would make a good novel. A harlequin romance, maybe, if Basch was actually the lost Princess's lover. All it needed was a charming rogue, a streetwise thief, an intelligent beauty, and some interesting sidekicks and it would be a classic.

Harry choked out a laugh, his disused voice rasping even as he shifted his skin against Basch's where they were chained back to back. And when the guard ordered him silent, the smile didn't leave his lips. He needed those little moments to keep him going... especially if he would be spending another few years stuck as he was. He was losing hope of release by now, but he refused to let them break him. He could last.

There was no other option.

* * *

"_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts, teach us something please..."_

Harry's glasses slid as he rocked to put more pressure on the cage's bottom with his feet. He scrunched his nose to push them back. He sung to the tune of _Jingle Bells_ and used momentum to slowly rock their prison from side to side; it was actually a bit frightening to look down into the oubliette with each backswing, but Harry was beyond caring.

"_...Whether we be old and bald or young with scabby knees..."_

Boredom was the true killer. He had thought that after a year he would have been used to the days of silence, inactivity, and no mental stimulation... but he wasn't. He had taken to reciting every spell incantation he had ever heard spoken, imagining potion's instructions, and planning Quidditch strategies all in his mind. Anything he could concentrate on was a relief from the monotony, but even those things weren't enough to rid him of the constant, nagging itch for stimulation.

"_...Our heads could do with filling with some interesting st--"_

"Cease your infernal racket before I tell the guards you have lost your mind!"

Harry paused, not so much to obey the order but out of surprise. "Did you just talk?"

There was no answer from the man, but Harry could feel his harsh exhalation of air at his back.

"You did! A _year_ you ignore me, and all I had to do was be an annoying sod and you'd answer?"

Left again without answer, Harry set to grinding his teeth in irritation. But what could he do? Whatever it was that Basch had against him, it wasn't going to be ended so long as they were chained back to back in this cage, and once they parted ways Harry would never have to think of him again. That was, of course, on the assumption they ever got out of the god-forsaken prison.

But no. Harry refused to think that way, refused to even entertain the possibility of not getting out someday. He would be free, and he would get back to his loved ones. It was inevitable. It had to be. Even if it took him another ten years.

"_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts..."_

* * *

In the end, it was barely another year before everything changed.

It had been several days since he had eaten. Even a childhood of malnutrition and the last two years of prison fare didn't make it easier to go a week without a scrap. He'd punched a guard in the face for some rancid commentary about Harry's mother, and this was his punishment.

He could hardly stay conscious.

Hope was not a tangible thing, more a far-off concept of something he once had had. Long since had Harry given up on hope of rescue, his will flagging with the deterioration of his body. While he refused to give in to the insanity surely expected from such a long confinement, he no longer could pretend that it was nothing. He could hardly even imagine Ron and Hermione's faces anymore, their personalities and memories all he had left of them.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, trying to block out the faint sounds of conversation from behind him. Basch's back rumbled with his responses, and the feeling lulled Harry to the brink of sleep.

But no one could stay unaware with the commotion that erupted minutes later. Vaguely he could hear voices, yelling voices...

"I'm dropping it."

The ground was pulled from under him, and Harry felt the moment's paused suspension before they were hurtling down. Harry forced open his eyes in time to see a figure leaping onto the cage, fingers curling around the bars as they fell like a lead weight down the oubliette. But he had no time to process what was happening before the ground came up to meet them.

* * *

(1) Previous two lines from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

A/N: In the American version, this was changed to 'moleskin'. However, I like mokes (silvery-green lizards – endangered! From Fantastic Beasts) so I'll go with the British version for this.

This posting is a placeholder. This will be continued most quickly, but as all the things I posted today, it is a way to gauge interest and for people to Alert so they know when I continue, since my main fic is over and readers were interested in this and others.

See you soon, loves. :)


	2. Everything Familiar

Disclaimer: JKR and Square own the rights to all characters contained herein.

Here is chapter 2, Harry's introduction to the world of Ivalice and its band of merry adventurers.

* * *

**Embracing Absurdism  
**_When everything familiar seemed to disappear forever_...

* * *

Harry was brought back to consciousness as his arms were released, heavy limbs dropping in a horrifically painful movement to his side. Blood rushed back to deprived limbs, and only the sore, parched state of his throat kept him from screaming.

He had a clear view up the oubliette from where he had slid out of the broken cage, and he had no idea how it was physically possible that he had survived. And from the groans of pain around him, he wasn't the only one. It seemed impossible.

He tried to pull his arms towards him and found he could hardly move them. Whereas Basch had been let off that morning to eat, Harry hadn't been moved in days now. He was still grimacing and trying to force himself to move when a cool wash of green surrounded him, soothing him and making his head feel light.

"You are well now?" an oddly accented voice asked, feminine and lilting. Harry tried to keep his eyes from widening as he sat up and faced a tall woman.... wearing very little clothing. And were those _rabbit ears_? She was dark skinned and her hair was bleached of all color, contrasting brightly even in the dim light of the tunnel they were now in. He was well versed with meeting all manner of creatures, but he had never heard of anything like _her_.

He caught up with her question and tested his arms, finding the pain had faded to a dull ache. He was no less faint and hungry, but he could move the hand he had broken on the guard's jaw now, and his shoulders had their range of motion back. "Err-- yes. I believe so."

He meant to ask next how she'd done such a thing. He knew few spells that could heal a person (potions were generally used for that), and for that matter he could feel no magic from her or anyone around them. But he was interrupted by a smooth voice and an equally smooth gait as a man sidled up to them, eyebrows arched. "Well, what have we here?"

Harry coughed a bit as he found his eyes trailing over the brunet, flamboyantly dressed as he was. With a nearly frilly shirt covered with an ornate vest, Harry would have been able to tell even without the cocky tilt to his head that he was used to the grander things in life. And he wouldn't even begin on the tight leather pants. "Excuse me?"

"Archadian, are you?" the man hummed, bending at the waist and giving a wicked smirk. "A spy? Son of a traitor? What got you thrown in Nalbina?"

"Arcade...? I'm sorry, but I honestly have no idea how I ended up here. I just--"

"Arrg!"

The inarticulate scream of rage halted the conversation, turning their attention to where a blond boy was charging Harry's former cellmate. The cocky brunet stood with a sigh, reaching over and grabbing the boy by the back of his vest and throwing him to the side. "Spare us your quiddities, boy."

"But he's a--"

"A traitor, I know." The brunet ran a hand over his hair, flicking his eyes back towards Harry and the rabbit-eared woman. "Stay here and fight if you want. The rest of us will be leaving."

The blond boy on the ground was gaping, and Harry almost felt badly for him. He wasn't sure what had driven him to attack Basch, though he suspected that it was again because of Basch's supposed murder of their king.

The brunet moved towards Harry's erstwhile cellmate, leaving Harry to attempt to stand. His legs shook.

"You come not from here."

Harry looked up into the wise red eyes of the rabbit-eared woman, swallowing as he nodded. "I don't."

She didn't respond, moving instead towards where the others had congregated. Harry was left with the distinct memory of Luna Lovegood and her strange ability to just... _know_ things. He felt he would like her, though, despite the mild discomfort her outfit caused him.

"You get used to it."

Harry jumped as the voice breathed in his ear, and he jerked away from the brunet. "What's that?"

"Fran. Viera don't think like we Humes do. The garb is commonplace amongst her people."

"Oh," Harry said dumbly, trying not to blush at being caught out. "Err, what's your name?"

"Ah, but that would be telling, wouldn't it?" Harry was agitated by the saucy wink the man threw him. "I came with a purpose, however. Captain fon Ronsenberg up there tells me that you were detained in the scenic Nalbina dungeons for nigh on two years with him."

Harry made his agitation known with narrowed eyes. He was exhausted, sore, and the combination of the adrenaline draining from his system and his bare torso left him chilled. He was in no mood for being toyed with.

"Not much of a sense of intrigue, hm?" The man turned up his nose. "I want to know why your hair is so short. You haven't even a scruff around your face and your hair hasn't passed your earlobes. The Captain over there looks like he's part beast."

Harry couldn't stop a blush from creeping up his chest. "I've always had hair about this length. It doesn't grow out past this." He chose to ignore the jab at his facial hair – or lack thereof.

The man had the audacity to chuckle as he sidled away, smug smirk tilting his lips. "We'll be keeping an eye towards you, so you are aware. And if you want introductions, you should try taking the first step, hmm?"

* * *

These caves were surely hell, Harry thought. Full of identical twists and turns, infested with monsters outside of his comprehension, and currently close to pitch black. Harry stayed with his back to the wall and tried not to move, lest the shuffling zombie-like creatures take notice of him. This had to be hell. These things shouldn't exist. But his companions moved through the winding tunnels on their way to freedom like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Harry watched yet another of the electric... bug-things fall (oh, _light_, that was nice) while moving his eyes across the victorious group. The errant knight on a quest to save his princess, the orphaned thief on a mission for revenge, the debonair pirate, and the beautiful, mysterious demi-human – all fighting with forged weapons to destroy odd beasts. It had moved out of a harlequin romance and straight into some epic fantasy novel! Harry wished he could find as much humor in that as he had months ago in that damned cage.

Harry sighed as he followed the group, concentrating more on staying upright than the other people around him. The most important part was that they were working their way towards the exit of the long-disused mines, and only the electricity they kept winning back from the bugs who consumed it was staving off true danger in the cavernous halls. Harry shivered. They were united by this driving need to escape, even Harry's rather useless addition to the team tolerated as they fought for their lives. The shuffling in the darkness made chills run down Harry's back; every time they didn't move fast enough to prevent one of the insects from consuming a large amount of electricity, once the lights dimmed and the shadows lengthened, enemies creapt towards them with dragging limbs and pale faces, remarkably like inferi.

Harry swallowed.

This had to be the most ridiculous situation he'd ever found himself in. Forget having a megalomaniac after his life, forget escaped convict godfathers, forget magical riddles and deadly competitions. Waking up in a place he had never heard of (and, despite contrary beliefs, he did have _some_ knowledge of geography stored away from before Hogwarts) and being imprisoned for two years in a place that looked like it was from the Middle Ages... it topped them all.

Niggling fear had been pushed to the back of his mind since he had woken up in Nalbina, and the truth of it hit him full-on as he walked blindly with automatic steps. Not only was he in a place he had never heard of, he was in a place that by all rights shouldn't exist. It was nothing like the muggle or magical worlds here. The air was different. The people were different, fighting with swords and staves, bearing foreign names while speaking in familiar accents. It was like... he was in a different world.

And that idea scared him so much that he was ashamed.

If he was in a different world, there would be no Ron, Hermione, and Ginny coming to his rescue. There was no Teddy he could make sure was raised well, no Hogwarts to visit in reminiscence. He had already missed out on two years of his loved ones' lives, and if he couldn't think of a way back...

Harry grimaced and plucked at the shirt he had been forced to put on, trying to think of anything but the conclusion to that sentence. He would rather think about how he was wearing clothing that had come from a corpse. There was blood dried along the collar, blood that was not his own, and the faint odor of age wafted off of it as he yanked down at the hem. Thankfully, the body hadn't been decaying, likely due to the cold, stagnant air. He didn't think he could have stood to wear it if that wasn't the case.

"So... what's your story?"

Harry blinked rapidly in surprise, head whipping to his left. The young blond boy had dropped back to walk beside him, hands laced behind his head. Harry chewed his lip. "Story?"

"Yeah. I mean, we – Fran and Balthier and me – all got thrown in the dungeon for breaking into the palace. What'd you do?"

"I don't know, honestly. I woke up there." He took note of the name Balthier and pinned it to the cocky brunet. It was suitably snobbish.

The boy gave him a skeptical look. "You had to of done something to get put in there though, right?"

Harry turned his eyes away, shrugging. "If I did, I don't remember. I was with friends," Harry figured that wasn't a horrible stretch of the truth, "and passed out, and when I woke up I was in that place."

The boy mussed his hand through his hair and dropped his arms. "How would you have gotten from Archades to here? Doesn't make a lot of sense to me."

"I'm not from any place called Archades."

A scoff now, accompanied by a narrow-eyed glance. "Sure you aren't." Before Harry could protest, the boy was picking up speed to catch up with the group. "Anyway, my name's Vaan. If you're trouble, I don't care what Balthier says." The boy attempted to look fierce as he scowled, but instead looked like he had sucked on something sour.

Harry gave a faint smile. "My name is Harry."

"Harry? What kind of a name is that?" He walked away then, stomping a bit as he passed by where Basch and Balthier were in quiet conversation. Harry sighed and closed his eyes for as long as he felt safe to, eyes feeling heavier. He was exhausted suddenly, far more so than he had been even moments before. He felt drained. He watched Vaan drop into place beside Balthier, obviously saying something as he waved his arms. Balthier took it with grace, gun propped up on his shoulder and a moue of exasperation on his face.

Harry plucked again at the dead man's shirt he wore, trying to ignore the phantom itching the fabric sent across his skin. He missed his robes. And – good Merlin he never thought he'd say it – he even missed Dudley's oversized hand-me-downs. Anything had to be better than this. He was thankful to at lest have retained his loose jeans, frayed and torn though they were, with the mokeskin pouch in its pocket.

He supposed he should pull out the Elder Wand, but the thought made him ill. He didn't want that cursed thing, and it hadn't worked anyway. He remembered the feeling of being utterly magicless, a simple spell like Alohamora not working. There was nothing that could dampen a wizard's inherent magic, so there had to be something wrong with the wand. Maybe... maybe it just knew he didn't want it. Maybe it knew he was no fit owner for something that Professor Dumbledore had held for so long. Maybe Voldemort trying to kill him with it had finally killed the damned thing.

But that wasn't a comforting thought, either. Could he truly survive without any magic for the rest of his-- until someone came for him? Harry's teeth ground together as he frantically pushed away several trains of thoughts at once, feet carrying him forward despite his turmoil.

He met with a solid impediment to his progress, and Harry reflexively put out his hands to keep his balance. His hands met skin. He blushed profusely as he jerked his hands away from Fran's bared hips, looking up as he prepared to apologize.

Then he got a look at the room beyond her shoulder.

Dozens of the small, teal, electricity-sucking bugs were skittering to-and-fro, and above them spanned a gigantic version of them on spider-like legs, far larger than any Acromantula, electricity buzzing in the air and making the hair on Harry's arms stand on end. He stumbled back, hands pressing against the stone of the wall as his eyes widened beyond their limit.

His companions, on the other hand, seemed to have no such reservations. Vaan was already charging forward with his dagger, Basch following at a more sedate and measured pace, sword held at the ready. Balthier and Fran raised their ranged weaponry and took aim, picking off the smaller creatures with concentrated frowns. It was amazing and frightening, and Harry felt shamed that he could do little more than cling to the far wall.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to go home _right now_ and never see this place again. Killer bats, weird little electric bugs, inferi imitators, and now this ginormous beast that hovered over their heads and tried to spear them with its pointed feet, bolts of lighting appearing out of nowhere in an attempt to electrocute them.

And the battle wasn't going well.

"Oh hell– Fran! A little help here?" Balthier's wrist and hand dripped with blood, staining the bright baubles he wore on his wrist and marring the rainbow-toned rings on his fingers.

Fran huffed from Harry's right, her hair stirring around her as she held out a hand. The green light Harry now knew to be called 'Cure' twirled around her before shooting off and enveloping Balthier, and the blood stopped flowing.

"Thank you, luv. Now, I think that the opposite of thunder is ice, isn't it? A Blizzard spell would be wonderful."

"I am conserving my magicks for healing, Balthier."

He grunted as one of the bugs slipped past his bullet and latched onto his ankle. "A quick end to this fight would be better than being so exhausted that all the healing in the world won't save us."

"And what is victory if we collapse to injury after?"

Their bantering made Harry's head hurt. But it was clear that Vaan and Basch's attacks weren't doing enough, and the Mimic Queen merely spawned more of the annoying miniatures when Balthier and Fran managed to destroy them. He could see from where he was the blood that stained the clothing and skin of both the mêlée fighters. Harry's hands shook as he dug into his pocket, thoughts of disgust gone from his mind as he realized how little hope there was at the current moment. Despite the lighthearted way the two argued, he could see sweat on Fran's brow and the way Balthier's hands shook as he reloaded his pistol.

He didn't bother pulling out the pouch out, instead jamming his hand in and wrapping his hand around the cool wood of the Elder Wand, ignoring the pain as either the mirror or the remnants of his phoenix feather wand stabbed the fleshy bit between his thumb and fingers.

He had never been so afraid of a battle, and the thought nearly surprised a small laugh from him. He was more afraid of some stupid bug than he was of Voldemort? This was ridiculous. He refused to let something frighten him so much just because of the unknown. He steadied his hands, pausing to rub his sweaty palms against his jeans. This had to work. He stared down at the pale wood of the Elder Wand, setting his jaw. He _owned_ this stupid thing. It was his, and it would do as he said. He was no Dumbledore, but he refused to let a piece of wood scare him into submission or a life without magic.

He stabbed his wand towards the Queen as it swayed, magic building up around it once more with electrifying energy sending sparks up Harry's spine. It was preparing to cast one of the massive, devastating thunder attacks on the group again. He needed to stop it from casting again; he didn't think his companions could handle another shock. He had to –_ had to_ – stop it now. "_Petrificus Totalus!"_

One leg was upraised, and it froze in position entirely, as did all of the miniatures. Harry felt dizzy as he felt the spell _ripped_ from him, and the ground came up to meet his eyes faster than he could stop. But his arm cushioned his fall as he landed on the soggy stone ground, gasping for air.

It didn't take long for the others to stop staring at him and take the opportunity to slay the beast, and Harry watched it through foggy eyes. Or was that his glasses? He took in shuddering breaths, slowly calming the panicked racing of his heart. His magic had worked, but it was not like it had been before. It had been like a cork had been pulled from a fizzing bottle, and far more had come out than he had wanted, leaving him drained and woozy.

The green light that was becoming familiar washed over him moments later, but it did little to clear his head. With effort, he pulled up his head to send a pained smile at Fran.

"You are hurt."

He didn't bother nodding, and he didn't really think he could manage if he tried. She gave an expressionless sigh and bent down to grip Harry by his arms and pull at him until he was turned over and sitting on his backside. She left him and went back to firing arrows rapidly up at the now sagging beast that was weakly swatting at them. It seemed his spell hadn't held, but Harry couldn't be arsed to care. Right now he only wanted to stand up. His head sagged as Vaan began climbing one of the beast's legs, dagger between his teeth, obviously intent on attacking its underbelly.

Harry's head jerked up at the roaring crash of the Queen's collapse, and all possible wooziness drained away as he saw the ceiling following suit. Vaan ran in a blind panic towards the tunnel to their right, and adrenaline pushed Harry to his feet as he stumbled as best he could towards the same direction. A painful grip on his upper arm made him swallow a yelp, and it was only worse as Balthier passed him and tugged him along. Harry barely managed to keep his footing.

The daylight was blinding, and Harry didn't care when he finally tripped and fell into the sand face first. He was thankful to not have to stand anymore, and even more thankful to see daylight for the first time in... Merlin, how long had it been? It was so warm, and Harry spat as much sand from his mouth as he could, raising his head and basking in the first real warmth he'd known in years.

"Woah, are you okay?"

He glared weakly at Vaan, exhaling out his nose to clear it of sand. "Oh yes. I'm perfectly fine being unable to move while face down in the sand. Don't mind me."

"Jeez, you don't have to get sarcastic. Want help up?"

Harry nodded and let Vaan's hands lever him up, leaving him sprawled sitting in the hot sand with his arms to hold him up. The sun was heavenly on his face, and he enjoyed it in silence as Vaan meandered back to the others.

"Right, I hate to interrupt your reverie, _Harry_, but I'm afraid I must ask you some questions."

"Ask away, _Balthier._"

Balthier cursed and shot a look over his shoulder at the group. "It was the boy, wasn't it?" He sunk to the ground at Harry's side.

"Who told me your name? Yes. Your point?" Harry shifted his grip on the Elder Wand and cupped his hand, too tired to do more than glare at it as he gave it a small flick. "_Aguamenti_." It came out in little more than a trickle, which was annoying, but he thankfully brought his mouth to his hand, sipping out small mouthfuls.

He felt Balthier's eyes burning on the side of his face. "What in the world are you doing?"

Harry rotated slightly, pulling away and letting his hand fill. "Were you in prison so long that you've forgotten what water looked like?"

"Tsch," was his reply, but Balthier fumbled at his belt and soon produced a waterskin that had seen better days. He thrust it forward with a cocked eyebrow.

Harry swallowed down the remainder in his hand and canceled the spell, taking the container and propping it between his legs. He waved the wand in a more full arc, hoping that he wouldn't be left all day trickling water into the skin. "_Aguamenti!_"

Harry let out an undignified sound as water gushed out of his wand and over his hands, but it slowed almost just as quickly to a faint trickle, leaving Harry's wand tip pressed into the waterskin and a frown on Harry's lips. The wand seemed to be erratic at best, malfunctioning at worst. What was he going to do with a wand that hardly worked?

"Interesting tricks you've got there."

Harry glared through his fringe, keeping his concentration on keeping his wand in the right place. "It isn't a trick, it is _magic_."

"I've never seen a water spell do _that_."

"You have water spells, too?"

Balthier shrugged. "Not myself; I'm not much of a mage. I've seen men who had all the elemental spells, however, and water is an offensive one. You certainly wouldn't dare drink it."

"Then don't drink it. I'm not forcing you, I just thought I'd show some common courtesy."

"No, no, I appreciate the effort. You seem to have retained all your limbs and have yet to keel over, so I suppose I can be momentarily courteous."

"You're an ungrateful sod, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Oh?" Balthier gave an amused smirk. "Not in so many words, but I dare say that similar has been thought many a time."

He opened his mouth to reply, but Basch walked towards them then, eyes firmly on Balthier and ignoring Harry. "We should not tarry. The quake from the collapse will surely bring guards."

Balthier grimaced but nodded, standing and dusting off his trousers. "Right. Can you walk?"

It was addressed to him, and Harry shrugged painfully. "I'll have to, won't I?"

"If you don't want to be left here you will. And I still have questions for you, so it would be in all of our best interest for you to muster the strength." Balthier took the waterskin from Harry's upraised arm, tilting it and taking a sip. His eyebrows shot up and he immediately turned towards the rest of the group, leaving Harry to rise to his feet.

With a sigh Harry pushed his legs beneath him and wobbled to his feet, throwing out his arms to better balance. The dizziness faded after a moment, leaving behind the kind of bone-deep weariness he hadn't felt since he had stalked towards Voldemort's camp in the woods, leaving behind the fading images the Resurrection stone had produced of his loved ones. He was nearly in a fog as he closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath.

The group left him a moment to recuperate before setting off, leaving Harry dragging himself behind them. He refused to be thrown back into Nalbina, but he couldn't help but think that following this group would send him into more trouble than it was worth.

* * *

The city fascinated Harry.

He had never seen a city like this, castle at its center with sprawling buildings stretching out to the high walls. It was a design like something from medieval Europe, but the structures themselves and the materials used were like nothing Harry had ever imagined.

He looked out over the long expanse of desert before him, already overheated from the first leg of their journey. He cursed himself for never learning any warming or cooling charms. But then, he had never expected to be in such harsh conditions.

"Rabanastre: never did I dare dream that I would see her beauty once more." Basch trailed ahead of where they stood, arm raised slightly from his side in a wistful gesture. "But never did I wish to see her in the grasp of the Imperials."

"Yeah, well, we don't always get what we want," Vaan grumbled, hands laced behind his head once more. "Let's get down there, I want to see Penelo and tell her I'm fine."

"By all means, lad, let us make haste. Wouldn't want to keep your girl waiting." Balthier was flippant, grin slanting his lips. Vaan made a face in return.

"A friend?"

Vaan frowned when Harry spoke up, eyes narrowed slightly as they began walking down the sandy hill towards the city. "Yeah, my best friend."

Harry wanted to sigh at the way the boy watched him like he was plotting evil, but instead just forced on a light smile. "What's she like?" he tried, attempting conversation.

The suspicious look didn't leave Vaan's face, but he did turn toward the city as he walked. "She's kinda like a sister. We grew up together and she's super bossy, but... she takes care of us. A lot of the younger kids look up to her. She makes sure everyone has enough food and that the younger kids learn what they need to know." Vaan's arms stretched above his head as he arched back, the popping audible.

"I have a friend like that. She was the smartest w-" Harry stumbled for only the briefest of moments, "person in our year at school. She was a know-it-all, but most of the time she really did know it all, so she could get away with it. She always made sure that our other friend and I didn't do things that were really stupid."

The blond hummed. "Penelo's like that too. She's the smart one out of all us orphans."

"There are a lot of orphans?"

A brief glare, venomous and hot, before Vaan faced front. "Obviously. Between the plague and the war, tons of kids lost their families."

"Err, I'm sorry. I really didn't know." He didn't have to see the boy's expression to know it was a disbelieving one. "I lost my parents to war when I was a baby, so I really do understand."

Harry grew uncomfortable as he became aware of all the attention on him, especially that of Balthier. The man had sidled up to his side and was watching him closely from the corner of his eye. "Is that so? Just what war might that be?"

He frowned as he tried to think of the best way to put it. "Back home, there was... a man who wanted control of our country. My parents were part of the group that worked against him, and when I was still a baby they were killed for it."

"What country, precisely, was this war waged in?" Basch now, surprisingly addressing Harry directly.

He stared at the back of the man's head. "England. My home."

"Ing Land? Never heard of that," Vaan said with a scoff. "What a weird name. Then again, you've got a weird name, too."

Harry had the urge to fall back and walk with Fran, who seemed content most of the time to stay silent and out of the squabbles the others often got into.

"Nor have I heard of such a place," said Balthier. "How exactly did you come to be here from there? And with the accent of an Archadian gentry, at that?"

The entire line of questioning was so sarcastic that Harry merely seethed, setting his eyes on the rapidly approaching gates to the city. Already the path was more beaten.

"He comes not from Ivalice. The gods toy with him."

That was all it took for the party to come to a screeching halt, eyes turning to the quietest of their group. Harry, as well, stared back at the viera.

"Is that so?" Balthier's look became appraising now, eyes roving over Harry with keen interest.

Fran continued on past them, hair swaying around her bow. Harry watched her go with wide eyes.

"Well, I'd say that's enough of that, then. Rabanastre awaits, as does a long night of fine drink. You'll join me, won't you Harry?"

He could do little but nod. What else did he have to do in this strange city? He knew no one, knew none of their customs. It would be just his luck to offend some local and be thrown back into the dungeon he had hardly escaped.

So Harry followed dourly after Fran's swaying hair, feeling Balthier's eyes on his back all the while.

* * *

The man was irrepressible.

"It is his nature, nothing more."

He shrugged and swirled the drink that he'd been staring into more than drinking, leaning more weight on his elbows. He had eaten as much as he could bear to without making himself ill; he was well acquainted with periods of starvation. Now he sat with Fran and watched Balthier flit around the bar, charming women with seductive grins and kisses to the backs of their hands. Men bought him drinks as people gathered to hear his stories, though Harry doubted he'd revealed who he was. Between the recent prison break and some of the short soliloquies he'd given, Harry imagined he was quite well known, but despite his flippant manner, Balthier seemed quite shrewd.

Harry realized he'd been right all those years ago about not all of the prisoners being human. In the bar there were the oddest creatures Harry had ever seen, and he had taken Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class for three years. On the far side of the pub stood a rotund creature with a flat face and pig-like snout, clothed in little more than a loin cloth, laughing uproariously. Sitting at a table playing cards were a few lizard-like creatures with long snouts and rings that glittered on their long ears. The one thing they had in common, Harry realized, was that they were speaking and interacting with the human members of the city... like they weren't anything but. He supposed that, like Fran, they were just another kind of humanoid this odd place had.

He would be lying if he said that he was entirely comfortable looking at them.

Harry tugged at the new clothes that Balthier had insisted upon, uncomfortable in the rough hewn fabrics. The outfit consisted of simple brown trousers with an airy shirt, sleeves just on the side of uncomfortably loose with a collar Harry found to be ostentatious, but they covered him while still allowing him to get air in the stifling desert. He knew he needed clothing. His biggest annoyances were the criss-crossing belts that had been looped around his waist, five of them in various colors making something of a band around his hips. Who needed more than one belt, especially when not a single one of them was keeping his trousers up? People of this place were odd, and the belts did nothing but annoy him.

But even more than the belts, the accessory attached to them made Harry uncomfortable. '_You need a weapon,_' Balthier had stated, shoving Harry into a shop crammed with soldiers and civilians alike. For an hour – a bloody _hour_ – he had had weaponry shoved into his hands, forced to twirl and heft. He didn't have the strength in his arms or shoulders for any kind of sword or bludgeon, and the magical weapons didn't seem to recognize that he had magic at all.

He didn't need a weapon. He had his magic, stunted though it currently was, and that was all he needed. But no, the stubborn pirate had insisted he needed a weapon – and at a loss for anything else, he had chosen his own specialty. A gun. Harry's leg twitched, making the gun shift against his thigh. A gun, he had a damned gun and was expected to learn how to use it. It was frustrating and frightening.

"You come not from here."

It was the _third _time she'd said that and nearly in identical fashions. He glowered through his fringe. "No. I bloody well don't come from here. Your point?"

She sighed lightly, giving him a mild look. "You are meant to be forthright and offer to me from whence you have come."

"And if I don't want to?" he grumbled as he took a swig of the bitter ale. He missed Firewhiskey.

A long finger extended to point at his face, nail curved wickedly at its tip. "You want. You are bursting with need to share. You are as a maelstrom, and magicks roil within you."

Was that really something that could be sensed? He didn't see how, and he'd never heard of such a thing, but this... this was not his own world. Different things were possible, and the tender pink lines across his body that had once been gashes and scrapes attested to that. So perhaps she could sense his magic somehow, however much that was worth.

"You come from far, and this world cries out to welcome you. Even these ears can hear her joy."

Harry snapped his eyes closed, inhaling slowly. Joy? What kind of a joke was that?

And then she was silent, fingernail scraping without sound across the same line again and again on the tabletop. He could feel her eyes burning him. He couldn't tell her everything. Not for any secretive reasons, really, but he just didn't want to share his past with a stranger. They could shun him if they wanted, but he could not bear to pour out his soul to anyone, not even this oddly wise, inhuman beauty. It wasn't their business and he just wasn't strong enough for it.

But what good would come from constant denial of the truth, from ostracizing the only person who had shown themselves to be his ally? Perhaps a single sentence did not constitute an Unbreakable Bond, but it was the only step anyone had really taken towards helping him. She'd been the only person to even show interest in his story beyond the curious, intrigued glances from Balthier. And Harry didn't count those.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends as he exhaled in a huff. "What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you might tell. I am patient and my ears are keen."

So he told her. Not much, but at least grains of truth. That he feared he was from another world altogether. That he had just ended a war moments before he had been thrust into Ivalice. He focused on the last moments of battle, trying to explain what had happened without pointing out how odd the rebounding curse was. He told of the golden glow. At this, she sucked in a shallow breath.

"The mist."

"Mist? What is it?"

Her fingers traced the odd nicks and scuffs on the table's surface, her prominent front teeth scraping over her lower lip. "Mist is magick, a manifestation of power. It is everywhere around you, but when it is thick..." she trailed off. "Mist can be dangerous, but it also might aid those within it. I know not of your story beyond that, but of the mist I am sure."

"And this mist is what made me come here? How is that possible?"

"I know not," she said. Her hand raised to push hair behind her shoulder. "But here you have come to be. What will you do?"

"I..." he trailed off with a frown, looking away. What would he do? He didn't have the faintest idea of how to begin trying to get home, he didn't have any connections in this place. What _was_ he going to do?

Fran hummed, drawing his attention back to her. "_You_ know not."

"Thank you for that," he said in a grumble, letting his head fall to the table. "Your help is like a breath of fresh air."

Long minutes went by that included little but Harry listening to the hum of conversation below them on the pub's main level. He felt tension uncoiling from his shoulders and wished for a bed to sleep in. Merlin... a bed. It had been so long since he had slept in one.

Fran broke his nostalgia suddenly, as was her way. "Your magicks are unlike mine, unlike that of anyone I have seen in my years. T'was not a Petrify spell you used, but one that freezes an enemy in place. And the water that fell from your stick was clear and crisp, morseso than any but that fresh from the streams of the wood. What else can your magicks do, I wonder?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. He should have figured that Balthier would make a spectacle of the water. "A lot of things. Most of what I know is fighting, but I know a lot of spells that are more... err... day-to-day, too. What can _your_ magic do?"

"Many things, this is true. It was an unfair question. But Ivalice's magicks are limited. With our spells we may fight and we may cure. There is little else."

"Do you think I could learn?" Harry looked up long enough to meet red eyes. "That Cure of yours is amazing."

She shook her head lightly. "I fear not. The mist in this air hovers over your skin, afraid to mingle with your magicks."

He let his head fall once more.

"Well, don't you two look chipper."

Harry didn't even bother to look up, glaring instead at the table beneath his eyes.

"You are settled now?"

Harry heard Balthier chuckle and felt his chair creak as weight was put on the high back. "I feel infinitely better, of course. Had to remind myself of how adored I am so I could go on living."

"You're full of yourself," Harry said, finally turning his head enough to glare behind him. Balthier was leaning with his arms crossed over the back of Harry's chair, a satisfied tilt to his lips.

"Were you lucky enough to be me, Harry, I hazard that you would feel much the same. The leading man is allowed to be proud."

Harry didn't want to comment that he knew exactly how it felt to be the 'leading man' and very much didn't think higher of himself for it. "Generally, the leading man isn't meant to know he is the leading man."

He heard an exhalation from Fran that might well have been a laugh, but he stayed focused on Balthier as he leaned forward further yet. "Ah, but that makes me all the more interesting, doesn't it?"

"If by interesting you mean insufferable..."

He was sure Balthier had a reply to that – the man had a comeback to _everything_ – but at that moment a commotion erupted at the door of the pub, a hoarse voice cursing as one of the lizard-like creatures pushed his way through the crowds.

"Interesting," Balthier murmured, keeping his eyes on the blue newcomer.

"What is?" Harry asked over his shoulder, voice low out of some odd sense of intrigue.

"That Bangaa is a local shopkeep. He is agitated; I wonder just what has gotten him so? He is looking for something..."

And then the creature – Bangaa – looked up to their table beside the railing, eyes locking on them and a snarl exposing the teeth that lined his snout. Harry jumped a bit, and glanced over at Fran to see her propping her face disinterestedly on her hand, but her eyes stayed sharply focused on the Bangaa now climbing the pub's stairs to get to them.

"You! Pirate!"

This time Balthier was the one to jerk uncontrollably, gaze twitching from side to side to be sure no one had noted the address. "I know not what you want of me, but keep your voice _down_."

The Bangaa was still snarling, and he slapped his scaled hands on the tabletop, making Harry lean back. Under one hand was a scrap of torn parchment. "_This, _pirate, is what I want of you. I received this and was told to give it along to you – it is a ransom letter! And do you know who they're ransoming?! Sweet Penelo, one of my employees, because she was seen consorting with _you_ prior to your arrest. If you've lain one finger on that sweet girl, and then managed to get her tangled in your mess--"

"This is surely a misunderstanding, Bangaa," Balthier cut in smoothly, already back to his relaxed self now that he understood the situation.

"What is the misunderstanding, Pirate? And I am Migelo, head of the Merchants Guild of Rabanastre and _far too busy _for this nonsense!" The sneer on the Bangaa's face was audible in his voice. The argument continued with Balthier speaking in bored tones and Migelo slowly becoming more frantic, but Harry found himself concentrating more on the way the whisps of hair beneath Migelo's nostrils would move, or the odd clasps and dangles that adorned the creature's hanging ears. Harry was all at once appalled and intrigued by the strangeness of him.

Harry was only broken from his reverie when a familiar shout rose above the snipping argument between Balthier and Migelo. Vaan stormed up the steps with Basch following more sedately behind him. Vaan's face was twisted into an exaggerated caricature of a glare. There was shouting regarding the kidnapping, and it all came together for Harry. Ah, so the girl was the friend of Vaan's, then, and left a note behind for Balthier thinking the girl was close to _him _rather than Vaan. At least, that is what Harry was getting out of the mess.

And then Vaan was pulling out a crystal from gods-know-where, reluctantly offering it as a reward to Balthier and Fran if they would help him save her. Harry felt something undefinable in his stomach turn, a lurch of his insides which unsettled him more than the prospect of running headlong into danger as the greedy look in Balthier's eyes suggested. He felt faint and light-headed.

"The gods toy with us as well," Fran said in a mournful tone.

Balthier had leaned heavily over the back of the chair at some point, and Harry jumped as he felt his hair displace when a heaving sigh was blown towards him. "Fine. Make yourselves ready, we leave soon."

Vaan made a whooping exclamation and bounded for the stairs, hopping down them two at a time with the energy only someone very young can possess. He was hardly younger than Harry was, but the difference was very noticeable. Harry stayed seated even as Fran rose, moving her bow from where it had been propped against the rail to settle on her back. "He includes you in this."

He blinked slowly at her. "Must I?"

"You wish to, denying that would be foolish."

Harry stood with the dizzy trepidation still weighing on his insides, only magnified as the gun thumped against his thigh. Balthier stood nearby and looked him up and down, finger raising to tap at his lips. "Hmm, well, I wished to acclimate you more to weaponry before you needed to practically use your firearm. The boy has supplies to procure still but that will hardly be enough time. Perhaps I should simply force you to stay aboard the Strahl once we reach Bhujerba..."

"Excuse me?"

"He speaks to none but himself," Fran said as she passed them for the stairs, hands upraised to tighten her high ponytail.

Balthier snapped his fingers. "With such a lack of intelligent conversation, one turns to the most suitable person they can find... and what more suitable conversation partner is there than I?" He strode past Harry as well, turning up his nose. "Follow or don't, but if you stay you are on your own."

Harry paused for all of a moment before cursing under his breath and following the sway of Fran's hair, wondering just what he'd gotten himself into.

* * *

A/N: Well? How do you think the introductions went?


	3. Slotted Spoons

Disclaimer: JKR and Square own the rights to all characters contained herein.

A bit of a catch-up chapter in parts for those of you unfamilar with the fandom. I tried to give a brief explanation of the game's circumstances both for Harry and your benefits, but without being tedious and boring for those of us who are more familiar. I hope I succeeded. :)

* * *

**Embracing Absurdism  
**_Slotted spoons don't hold much soup... _

_

* * *

_

"What did you do in this Ing Land place of yours?"

Harry tore his eyes from his awe-struck staring at the various architecture, instead blinking over at Balthier. "Excuse me?"

"The place you came from... what was your occupation there? You are young, but not so young that you would not have been apprenticed, yes?"

Harry shook his head and turned back to face the direction they were walking. "My... country is different than here. I was a student in a school of others who could do the same magic I do. It was my final year."

"Hmm, you must come from a wealthy family then, to be able to attend an institution such as that," Balthier said musingly as he dipped around a crowd of people. Harry enviously watched the easy grace that the man moved with. "I had tutors myself."

"My family was well-off enough, I guess, but going to school wasn't only for the rich. There were... funds for people who couldn't afford tuition. In my country, it was believed everyone should get an education."

This made Balthier stop and turn on his heel, cocking his head. "Honestly? Schooling for even the destitute? You come from an odd place."

"Odd? I think it is a good thing, personally. Equality isn't something to scoff at." Harry moved past Balthier and raised on his toes to catch sight of Fran once more, moving off in the direction the viera was going through one of the city's gates. "And besides," he continued, sensing Balthier's quick steps behind him, "without that equality I don't know that I'd have ever learned much; I didn't know anything about my parents until I was eleven years old. And if I'd been judged by my aunt and unc-- ack!"

Harry reared back, knocking quite forcefully into a passing woman and her child and tumbling head over heels in a mass with them. The woman was making offended screeching noises, the child just beginning to wail, but Harry had nothing in his mind but _backing away now_. "What in the hell is that?"

It was huge, towering over him at seven or eight feel tall, eyes fathomless and hard, staring at Harry as if he was prey. He at once began feeling for a weapon, any weapon, anything to fell the beast before it could devour him whole, because it looked hungry.

"That, Harry," Balthier said in the most darkly sarcastic tones Harry had ever heard from him, "is a chocobo. It is the most common creature there is, one every child knows from infancy. If you wish to cease looking like an imbecile and calling the attention of every guard in the vicinity to us, you will follow me from here before anyone has a chance to remember your face."

Harry flushed brilliantly, suddenly seeing the 'fearsome beast' for what it was. It was tall, surely, and had not ceased staring at him, but his stupid paranoia and overall jitteriness in this new place faded enough to see one of the oddest birds he'd ever seen standing a foot away, yellow head cocked to the side. "Wark?" It looked beyond harmless, a endearingly stupid expression on its face. There was nothing threatening or malevolent about its gaze; Buckbeak had been far more frightening than this cheerfully yellow bird.

Harry allowed Balthier to pull him by his sleeve, face flaming, across the narrow entry. A red crystal, like the blue ones that had caught his curiosity in the caves, spun indolently on an invisible axis and Harry resisted the childish urge to press his hands to it to see if it was cool or warm. The blue ones, Vaan had told him, stored memories for the user. In this – Harry cringed and forced himself to think the word _world _rather than _place_, knowing such hesitation was beneath him – world, it was apparently life-long habit to stop at the crystals to leave little updates of one's life. While the records were not normally viewable by others, in the event of death they were made available. And though it was a cold comfort, many families treasured the small memories they had.

Balthier did not pause at the fiery red crystal, nor did he stop when Harry exclaimed over the little, furry, bunny-eared creature outside the door. It wasn't the first he'd seen, but he'd not been given a chance to stop and speak to one yet, as much as he wanted to.

Harry turned back as the yanking took him in an abruptly new direction, and he found Balthier leading him into the busy lobby of building. Service counters lined the room and long lines snaked from them, but Balthier didn't even pause in the thick of the group, fingers tightening on Harry's sleeve as they slipped into a large lobby.

The room was beautiful, though Harry was distinctly uncomfortable with its grandeur. Everything was done in rich burgundies and earthy browns laced with intricate designs in white, reminding Harry a bit of the Persian rug his aunt had been exceptionally fussy over until Dudley had torn it to shreds with a rake. As Balthier finally dropped his sleeve and slunk into a lowered alcove, Harry found himself shifting from foot to foot while gazing around himself as surreptitiously as he was capable of... which was to say not surreptitious at all, but Harry refused to dwell on that.

He saw Fran sprawled elegantly along the edge of a platform in the center of the alcove, legs crossed at the knee and one spiked heel bobbing. Balthier stopped after greeting her with a nod, stretching his arms over his head. "Well, Harry, we will likely have a while yet to wait until young Vaan arrives."

"Are you going to fill me in on what the plan is?"

Balthier cocked a brow. "Now why would I do that? Do you even know where we are going? Why we are going? What my prize is to be upon rescuing a young damsel and returning her to her rightful place?"

Harry scowled irritably, crossing his arms. "I know only what was obvious. Vaan's friend was kidnapped. We're going to save her. Someone kidnapped her because they thought she was connected to you."

"Mmm, that is the beginnings of an answer," Balthier said. "In fact, it is a rather infamous bounty hunter whom would very much like my head on a platter. And though an innocent swept up in such things is a tragedy, I find myself rather fond of keeping it attached to my shoulders."

Green eyes cut away, staring at the streams of people milling around the building. "But Vaan offered you something."

"Indeed he did, an artifact of much import to myself and my associate," he gestured to Fran, who looked away with disinterest. Balthier favored Harry with a grin that made him inexplicably warm in the face. "And though there are a great many things I am not, unpurchaseable is not one of them. This should be a paltry task all in all. Whisk in, save the girl, reunite the young loves, and away I shall fly on my Strahl, never to be caught up with orphan brats or traitor knights again."

Harry forced himself not to take exception to the 'orphan brats' statement, almost sure it wasn't directed at him. He watched Balthier's eyes for a moment, a far-off cast and small smile making Harry think of flight and freedom. He felt something grip his insides with cold fingers and frowned, trying to banish it. "Your Strahl?"

Balthier blinked, brown eyes fluttering before they focused on Harry once more. "Ah, the love of my life. My airship, and a beauty she is."

"What's an airship?"

He knew immediately that this was another of those questions that, had anyone outside of their small group heard, would cast Harry as mentally ill. Balthier looked momentarily stricken, a look of intense pity overcoming it before wiping both away, waving Harry impatiently towards him.

When he was close enough, Balthier gripped him by the shoulders and pushed him around to the window, standing behind him with his grip tightening. "_That _is an airship, Harry."

Upon stepping down into the small alcove, Harry had obviously noticed the window. But it had been an uninteresting, empty room with metal walls. But as he watched, cracks of lights widened at the end of the tunnel-like room, growing until a cavernous opening had been created in its place. And Harry's breath caught as he saw the mass moving towards it.

Coming from two worlds where air travel was the norm, it shouldn't have impressed him so much to see the massive machine gently descending. But it did. Brass and gold and steel combined to make something beautiful, and the name suddenly clicked and felt entirely fitting. It was like a ship, an old one like the illustrations of pirates always rode in, but an aeroplane at the same time. And, frankly, it was a marvel. The mixture between the things Harry considered relics, things more modern, and things totally of this world's own was fascinating.

"My Strahl isn't as big as all that, of course. She's only made for a few people, but she's faster that that barge would ever be." Harry again felt a commonality with Balthier in this, drawing his own parallels. "There is no place in the world that isn't mine when I'm at her wheel."

"No expectations, no burdens to bear, no reason to worry about the future. Because there is only you and the sky," Harry said with a small smile, pulling away from Balthier and turning.

Balthier paused, focus coming back to his eyes as he stared pensively down at him. "And what do you have in your world to rival that freedom, Harry?"

Harry was saved from having to explain brooms in a way that wouldn't make him look like a fool when a shout was raised from across the rooms, Vaan barreling around affronted-looking patrons of the place they were waiting... which was still not a place Harry knew the name or purpose of. He would need to remedy that.

"Hey, here you guys are! Basch and me are done picking up supplies, so let's get outta here! Now!"

"Demanding," Balthier muttered, brushing by Harry and moving to the young blond. "I expect you packed sensibly? Potions and cures, a phoenix down or two just in case? And did you peruse the magic and gambit shops?"

A chuckle announced Basch's presence, and the man slipped around a woman who was bustling through with a small dog-like creature in her arms. "I made sure he was thorough. I believe we are ready to depart whenever you feel you are."

"Right," Balthier said, rolling his shoulders. "Fran? Harry? Shall we?"

Basch's eyes darted to him, narrowing before flicking back to Balthier. "Why is the boy coming? We know nothing about him or his origins."

"And you know nothing of mine. Would you rather he be wandering without supervision?"

Harry bit back the urge to retort to that, but seethed under the surface. He didn't like being _looked after_.

"Time passes with every moment." Fran was exceptionally good at breaking tension, as well as at reigning in Harry's temper. He sighed and roughly scrubbed his hands through his hair. And then he was trailing after the four others as they made their way to the next room and Balthier's _Strahl_, who was every bit as lovely as Balthier's pride had caused Harry to surmise. And he caught brown eyes glancing back at him as they made to board, lips slanted in a smirk in response to Harry's admiration.

Harry give a middle finger in response to the smirk, hoping that had the same meaning all worlds over.

* * *

He hated the door with every fiber of his being. It was his newest mortal enemy, hateful and confining. Harry glared murderously at the unchanged door, brass handle glinting innocently. And really, Harry conceded, it wasn't the door's fault... but it was so much easier to blame something that was there to glare at, especially after two hours of silence.

_"Without any way to defend yourself, you would likely be more of a liability and a hindrance than assistance. You will be safe on the Strahl... just don't touch anything."_

Harry cut his glare away from the passcoded door to the outside that he could not exit (he had tried, but it had locked him out after seven tries), and due to the electronic lock an _Alohamora_ did no good. Harry was listless, and he wondered how he was expected to stay sane in the small ship. There were four small cabins behind the cockpit, but none had space for more than a low, flat bed and a wardrobe, so there was no entertainment to be found there either.

Harry went back to Balthier's captain's chair, taking pleasure in kicking his feet up on the console and watching the bits of sand and dirt float down onto the switches and dials beneath them. He hadn't agreed to accompany the group just to be locked up like an errant child!

Things had been moving too fast since their escape from prison, and Harry supposed he should be thankful for the breather. But he wasn't. The pause in hectic activity made his thoughts catch up with him, and for the first time in years he could cradle his head in his hands as he fought back the terror.

For terror was the only word to describe it.

He was alone in a world he knew next to nothing about. It was a grand world, beautiful and interesting and full of new sights, but it _wasn't his_. He didn't know the name of the countries, the foods or beasts common to it, or even the name of the planet. He knew no history, no traditions, and he was damn lucky they even spoke English (whatever they called it; he didn't know that, either!). And, worst of all it seemed, he had no way of getting back home.

Home... where he had finally defeated Voldemort. Where he had finally made the Wizarding world safe for those he loved, and could actually live his life instead of dashing from battle to battle, hiding in tents in search of hocruxes, or flinching at every black-hooded figure. Home... where he would be lauded as a hero and hounded for interviews. Where he couldn't even have a bad day without people trumpeting that he was turning "Dark", where dozens of Death Eaters were still after his life, and where he was the last remaining of three extraordinarily powerful wizards.

Harry shuddered and stopped thinking on that.

"Ku-po! Jinu, punch in the override code; I don't know what Master Balthier has done this time, but we've got work to do, kupo!"

Harry startled as the previously locked door opened with a whoosh of hydraulics. He leaned to the side in time to see a group of the little furry creatures he'd noticed around Rabanastre boarding the airship. The creature in front paused as he saw him, eyes narrowing.

"Excuse me, but just who are you-po and why are you on this ship?"

Its voice was startlingly high-pitched, not so surprising when compared to the size of the being speaking. Harry smiled a bit awkwardly and scrambled to his feet, regretting it when he towered over the thing. He crouched down. "Err, hi, I'm Harry."

The creature's eyes narrowed.

Harry panicked a bit, assuming he'd made some faux-pas and offended it. "Um, sorry, I don't mean to be rude, I'm kind of new to the area and I'm new to dealing with creatures like you-- not that I'm just dealing! No, no, that sounded much more negative than I meant it to, I'm sorry. Uhh... you're really cute?" Harry blushed to the roots of his hair as the small, rabbit-like creature smirked at him.

"You're not from around here, are you, kupo?"

Harry stilled his movements and placed a hand on the ground to steady himself, staring down into knowing eyes. "Err... no. No I'm not."

"Yeah, I can tell. Moogles are super smart, you know; we see things in ways Humes can't." The little creature – a moogle, apparently – turned swiftly with his hands on his hips to face the others that had entered with him (Harry assumed it was male and really hoped that wouldn't end up getting him in trouble). "Hey, you slackers! Get to work. I need to help out Master Balthier's guest a little, but I'll be back to check your work in a few, kupo! Better be done when I get back!"

"Back?" Harry said hesitantly, standing to move out of the way as the other moogles scrambled.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, come with me. If you're from as far away as I think you are, you're gonna need some pointers, right?"

Harry was led from the ship then, the little moogle keeping a steady stream of nonsense up as he bemusedly followed. He couldn't hold back a gasp as they left the Aerodome and Harry saw the view. It was one thing to pan in to land on a suspended city, it was another thing entirely to be standing on solid ground and still look down on the clouds. He didn't pause long as the moogle had began pushing at the back of his legs, forcing him to walk to whatever destination he had in mind. Harry hardly noticed the trip, as he spent most of his time gawking at the glimpses of rolling hills falling away to nothingness and a giant crystal that protruded empirically from the earth.

"Here's good as any place, kupo. Have a seat."

They were at the edge of a tourist crowd, surrounded by all manner of creature looking down over a rail. An observation area, he thought, and the angle was just right to give a panorama of unmatchable beauty. Harry longed to have his broom, then, and be able to fly between these clouds, go to explore a forest that seemed undeveloped on the other side of the floating isle.

"Right, so where should I begin?"

Harry turned to his small companion, drawing up his feet onto the wide ledge they sat on and resting his chin on his knees. "Thank you for bringing me here... but who are you?"

The moogle blinked for a moment before grinning. "Oh, me? Kupo! I'm Nono, chief mechanic of the Ixarian Airship Group. Don't try to call us IAG and then pronounce it "Eeagh" because that just sounds stupid. We're the most sought-after mechanics in Ivalice, you know. I owe Balthier a few favors, so I'm always sure to be wherever he lands so I can keep the Strahl up and running, kupo. Don't know what he'd do without me!"

Harry smiled back, unsure what to say.

Nono seemed to understand, as he dove right into his purpose without bothering with an introduction. "Ivalice – that's this world, kupo – is really huge, and made up of dozens of countries. But around here, only a couple of them really matter. The two big countries are Rozarria to the west and Archadia to the north, and stuck in between them are smaller countries. Where you guys came from is Dalmasca. North of there is... well _was_ Nabradia. But the war kinda wiped them off the map, kupo." Nono sighed and sat with a plop, crossing his legs. "Two years ago, ya see, Archades decided it wanted to march on Rozarria. But to get there..."

The implications were obvious. Harry pursed his lips. "They had to go through the smaller countries in between."

"Ku-po, you're right. It all came down to one huge fight where the royal families of both countries were wiped out. The princess of Dalmasca and the prince of Nabradia had gotten married, you see. But both of their fathers were killed, and Rassler – that was the prince – fell in battle. And Princess Ashelia, after losing her father and her husband, was found the next day dead as well, but by her own hand. So Archadia wound up winning without contest."

"Both of their fathers died? Just out of the blue like that?"

Nono smoothed the fur on the back of his paws. "Not so much. You see, Nabradia and Dalmasca were really trying to fight back, but Nabradia's king was killed in battle. And then Archadia called a truce meeting with Dalmasca and Princess Ashelia's dad – he was kind of an optimist, kupo – agreed to go. No one really knows what happened then, but while the meeting was going on Prince Rassler died, and Dalmasca's king was killed by his own general, a guy named Basch who I think you know a thing or two about, kupo," Nono paused here to glance at him wryly. "So when Ashelia killed herself, it left both countries totally without rulers, easy for Archadia to get right in there and take over."

"And why are you telling me all this?"

"Cuz you need to know, kupo. You're traveling with a group who is going to get you sucked right into all of this, and if you don't even know why they're fighting..."

Harry grimaced and turned back to look out at the breathtaking skyscape. "I just finished a war back home... why would I want to get stuck in another now?"

"Because you're good at it."

Harry jerked spasmodically. "And just how would you know that?"

Nono stood and stretched his short arms, leaning to one side and then the other. "I can see it in your eyes. You've been through a lot, and you're going to go through a lot more. You're like Master Balthier... you can't ever just sit on the sidelines. You-po can pretend to be nonchalant all you want, but really you're going to jump right in when someone needs help or when adventure calls for you. It isn't a bad thing, kupo, so stop looking like I plucked your chocobo."

Harry gave a wry smile, looking down at where his fingers were twisted violently in his trouser legs. He slowly released the grip and sighed. Was that true? Was he really unable to live a quiet, boring life?

A hand, warm even through the rough cloth of his shirt, pressed into his shoulder briefly, making Harry jerk his head over his shoulder. He met a newly familiar, though wearied, smirk there. "I see you managed to bribe the help into freeing you?"

"The _help_?" Nono squawked, flailing his arms over his head. "Now you see here, kupo--"

"And _freeing_ me? Excuse me--"

Balthier laughed, a rare, genuine sound that made the corner of his eyes crease. "I apologize to both of you for my poor wordings, but do spare me the lynching. I am merely amused that you are not where I asked you to stay, Harry, and that you have my best mechanic with you."

Harry harrumphed, crossing his arms over his chest and turning up his nose. "I'm very bad at doing what I'm told." He relented immediately, dropping the melodramatic stance and leaning back on his hands. "Were you guys successful?"

Nono took this opportunity to brush his paws on his coveralls before hopping down from the ledge. "I've got work to do. See you back at the Strahl, Harry, Master Balthier."

"Pleasure to see you, Nono," Balthier said dismissively, turning back to Harry's previous question. "To a point we were successful, yes. We acquired a tag-along in the form of the twelve year old son of Emperor Gramis Gana Solidor, ruler of Archadia... not that we knew who he was at the time, of course. He helped us to rescue the girl, though, and she is presently in his dubious care. I have a hard time fathoming trust in one of that particular monarchy, but the child seems far more reasonable than his father... or his brother. Young Larsa will likely take fine care of Miss Penelo, then Vaan can stop his pestering whining and go back to Rabanastre."

The child of the Emperor of Archadia? That would be the brother of the snooty Vayne, then. Harry wondered if it was normal for boys not even into their teens to randomly insert themselves into dangerous missions. He thought it highly convenient, not to mention suspicious, and wondered just what the group had been thinking allowing him along. It seems to have turned out well enough, though it made him uneasy that Vaan's friend was still not with him.

Harry ruffled his hair violently, grimacing. The echo of Nono's proclamation from only minutes ago echoed in his head, and he saw shades of truth in it. He was getting pulled deeper into this situation, but he didn't think he could walk away voluntarily now. Only days out of prison and he was already becoming attached to this small group of people. Perhaps it was due to them being the only people he really knew in this world, but nonetheless...

"I didn't appreciate being left behind," he said, glancing at Balthier from the corner of his eye.

"No, I didn't suppose you would," was the wry reply, punctuated by the sound of Balthier clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "However, regardless of your appreciation, it was for the best. You have not even fired a single shot with your pistol yet."

"I don't _need_ a gun to protect myself."

Balthier opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by raised voices nearby.

"Did you hear? Basch fon Rosenburg isn't dead! And he's _here_."

"Don't be silly; that boy isn't nearly old enough to be the Captain."

"How do you know? Did you ever meet him?"

"Well, no... if I had, though, I'd have known he was a traitor at least! You know I'm a good judge of character."

"Whatever you say, Auntie."

Harry raised an eyebrow at Balthier, who gave him a dry smirk in response. "A rather foolhardy

plan to gain the attention of the Marquis Ondore. We require an audience with him before any of us can proceed on our chosen paths. Young Vaan has taken it upon himself to proclaim himself as our deceptively living Captain, in hopes that the Marquis or his 'resistance' will take note. Apparently, our scheme is working since the citizens are talking."

"And why it so important to see this Marquis important?"

Balthier tilted his hand from side to side in a vague gesture. "It was he who claimed the Captain to be dead, and he who has played puppet to Vayne all these years... and the Captain believes he may have information regarding a leader of the resistance, Amalia. She has apparently gone missing. If any could point us in the direction we need to be in, it would be the Marquis. For my part, I merely wish to see young Vaan reunited with his girl, claim my prize, and perhaps see a reward from the Marquis..." Balthier paused and threw a roguish wink, "for my continued silence, of course."

The sudden appearance of a grim-faced Basch halted any reply. "Vaan has been led away. We must make haste."

"Ah, I see intermission is over." Balthier offered one hand to Harry. "Shall we continue with the next scene, then? It promises to be an adventure."

* * *

"You know... when you said 'adventure', Balthier, I really didn't think you meant 'chained up'."

Balthier scowled over his shoulder at him, only to be butted in the side by a guard. "Face front!"

Fran, where she was chained between them, gave a motion of her shoulders like a sigh. "And yet we are here."

They had met the Marquis as planned, even taken tea with him. Harry hadn't had tea in so long that he'd nearly sobbed with happiness, but it seemed the relaxing moment was not to last. The politics involved and the risks being taken were steeped in darkness After a cryptic conversation, Basch had apologized before very deliberately drawing his sword on the Marquis, and with a sigh the older man had called his guard.

Which brought them to be here, on an airship, cuffed and chained together, being led through what Harry assumed to be a hangar. He felt queasy if he looked down through the clanking grating to the clouds below. He wasn't one to be afraid of heights, obviously, but there was a large difference when one had a broom between their legs, and the control to fly it. Here, if he were to fall...

They reached some kind of high-ceilinged, cavernous antechamber. A contingent of guards awaited them, helmeted and armed. "Halt, prisoners. Welcome," the speaking guard's tinny voice was heavy with a sneer, "to the Dreadnaught Leviathan. Judge Gris will see you in a moment."

Harry fought a glare as two guardsmen swept forward and detached them from one another, leaving the heavy manacles that encased their wrists and, apparently, sealed magic. Fran was looking distinctly pale and uncomfortable, and Harry could sympathize. Being cut off from one's magic was a hellish experience.

Once the chains had been taken away, the same guard barked at them to follow, leading them down a windowed hallway. Harry was amazed despite himself at the sheer grandeur of the airship; it was a vehicle, but it was as opulent as a mansion. He supposed, with its size, it was a given.

Harry found himself beside Vaan and glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Since it had been clear that Penelo had been taken back to Rabanastre by the mysterious Larsa, the boy had been frowning and scowling nearly nonstop. Now, he held the same expression, only tempered by an occasional shake of his manacled wrists and a sigh.

Harry wanted to comfort him or say something to make him look less grim, but there really wasn't much he could say. As it was, he let his hand fall to pat his pocket where the Elder wand still lay, undisturbed by the guards who had searched them. What was a stick of wood, after all? Harry breathed in deeply and bided his time.

The next five minutes made Harry wish he'd simply whipped out his wand before they'd arrived in the main chamber.

"I still can't believe that was the Princess," Balthier said dryly from behind him.

They had been taken before a regal soldier in golden armor, twisted horns snaking from his head. The soldier – a Judge, though he had little understanding of what that entailed – had introduced them to another prisoner quickly, his smugness radiating from him. Amalia, the leader of the resistance that they had been searching for... also known as the supposedly dead Princess of Dalmasca... had not left a stellar first impression on any of them, but Princess she was. And Basch's deep frown told Harry that finding her had only strengthened his resolve... even if Ashelia had made it very clear that she blamed him still for her father's death.

Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and turned, meeting Fran's solemn red eyes. And he knew. He tried to be subtle as he reached for his wand, glad that Basch and Balthier's bantering was keeping the guards distracted, and just as his team members flew into motion knocking back the closest of the armored contingent, Harry had his wand at the ready.

"_Stupefy!_" He stumbled a bit at the sickening pull from him, swallowing down bile. It hit a guard in the chest, knocking him back several feet before making him slump to the floor. Harry gritted his teeth and aimed again at one Vaan was struggling to trip. "_Stupefy!"_ This time, the guard only stumbled and shook his head, catching himself on an arm. It was all Vaan needed though, and a spear's handle was bashed into the guard's helmet.

What in the hell was wrong with his magic?

He didn't have time to think, as a final guard burst through the doorway. Harry raised his wand just as the newcomer raised his arm to his helmet, lifting it over his jaw. "_Stupefy!_"

He fell back, head cracking on the ground as his helmet was dislodged. Harry heard cursing behind him and Basch shoved by him, standing over the fallen soldier. "This was not an enemy."

Well, how in Merlin's name was he to know that? Harry grimaced and pointed his wand towards the fallen man. "You're sure?"

Basch didn't meet his eyes, but nodded curtly. "He was a fellow commanding officer, and a loyal subject of Princess Ashelia. He knows my intentions are true." Basch flicked his eyes back to Vaan. "You recall meeting him, yes?"

Vaan nodded with a grunt from where he was poking at a downed soldier.

Harry felt the barest brush against his back and turned, meeting a shrug from Balthier. "You might as well. I expect we are more than enough to take him down again if the Captain's judgment proves false."

Harry struggled to make the correct wand motions with his bound hands. "_Rennervate_." Nothing. Harry cursed and raised his arms, making the manacles slide back to expose his wrists and allow him to flick more deftly. _"Rennervate!"_

The guard on the floor convulsed and sucked in a deep breath, eyes flying open. Basch took a step back and held out a hand. "Vossler."

The guard retained his stunned look for a moment – Harry cringed mentally at the pun – and then took the proffered hand, allowing himself to be pulled upright. "Basch. What in the--"

"We haven't time for this, chaps. Does not your Princess await you?"

Vossler straightened, eyes focusing on Balthier before flicking back to Basch. "Indeed. You have quite the band of followers here, old friend. Will you assist me in freeing Lady Ashe, then?"

"Of course. You have done both of our duties for too long, my friend. Let me take my own back."

Vossler went to each of them in turn, a key unlocking their manacles and once again allowing them freedom. Harry rubbed at the sore skin of his wrists, shaking them back and forth to get the feeling back in his fingertips. They hadn't been especially tight, but the heavy metal had pressed down on his skin.

"This will not be a simple journey," Vossler said sternly as they walked to the nearest door. "There are censors that detect movement and sound alarms. There are soldiers patrolling around every corner. And the way to the Princess is not quick. I beg you all to be ready and alert."

Vossler didn't look at them – had hardly glanced at any of them – but his voice was full of the kind of authority that was hard to deny. So Harry gripped his wand just a bit more tightly, ignoring the newly returned gun on his leg, and lifted his chin.

Danger? Hah.

* * *

"Merlin, don't _touch it_, you slimy git. OUCH!"

Balthier gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "It must be looked at if you wish to continue walking, Harry, so if you would cease your squirming--"

Harry howled as Balthier's fingers prodded the top of his foot, nearly lunging at him if not for Vaan's surprisingly strong grip on his upper arms. He breathed hard and clenched his eyes shut, trying to remember the other bones he had broken over the years. There was his leg when Dudley had tripped him on a hill, his arm in Quidditch in second year, a rib in his dementor-induced fall in third, his nose via Draco Malfoy's foot in sixth, his thumb during that year in hiding...

This was worse. He wasn't sure why it was worse, but he thought it had something to do with the sheer _number_ of bones that were likely broken in his foot, courtesy of a heavily armored guard's elbow smashing down into it. They were in a dark chamber, having just finished a wearisome fight, and Harry was trying his damndest not to cry. Or scream like a girl. But really, crying was the action he wanted to do most.

Fran knelt beside Balthier, ready with a Cure spell once Balthier had pushed all the small, jutting fragments of bone back under his skin. Harry turned green and swallowed, looking to the ceiling. He didn't need to think about that. But oh, Merlin and Circe, it hurt.

It seemed like eons before the cool, comforting wash of Cure fell over him, and he slumped back against Vaan with a relief that he could feel in his bones – puns intended. He wiggled his toes and cringed. Right, not a total fix, then, but at least he no longer felt searing-hot agony without movement.

Harry sucked in a breath and looked down at Fran and Balthier. "Thank you."

Balthier, of course, shrugged off the thanks with a smug smirk, but Fran nodded and rose to her feet. "The Princess is near. We should make haste before more guards come upon us."

"I believe the Viera speaks wisely." Again, Vossler seemed to have no interest in looking at any of them, but stalked instead for the only doors other than the ones they had entered through. "The holding cells are through here."

Harry finally stood of his own accord, flashing Vaan a wan smile which was returned in kind. "Feel better, huh? That looked like it hurt."

"I'll worry about it later. We have a Princess to save, don't we?"

Vaan nodded and began to walk, but his brow stayed furrowed.

"If you're worried about it... there's not a lot you could have done. If you hadn't given him the stone, he just would have taken it anyway."

Vaan sighed and ruffled his hair. "Yeah, I know. But it just makes me mad! What a jerk... and Balthier is probably kinda mad at me, too. I was supposed to give him that crystal, and now it is actually something of the Princess's, and a _Judge_ has it..."

They stopped talking as they reached a door, which Vossler input a code to open. And there was the Princess, already getting to her feet. Harry stayed back with Fran and Balthier, clear of the door, watching the changing expressions on Ashelia's face with a frown. "She hasn't been out much, has she?"

As odd as it was to reconcile it, Harry knew the small, huffing noise from behind to be a laugh from Fran. "This one is simply untried. But she has strength within her, deep and hidden. It must come out."

"Lucky to the one who has to find it," Balthier said. "That should be an expedition. She's very naïve."

Vaan was waving his arms emphatically as he tended to do when making a point he felt was important. "Well, she and Vaan have that in common, then."

Balthier snickered. "That they do. But the Princess has something that Vaan does not: a sense of entitlement. It makes her a trial. She has lived her life having all things done that she ordered, and I doubt that she will treat any of us as better than servants. It should be amusing to see how she reacts at being told 'no'."

"You're brave."

"The line between bravery and foolishness is a narrow one," Fran mused just as the four in the room began exiting, Vaan in the lead with Ashelia behind him, Vossler and Basch taking up the rear.

"I resemble that remark, luv," Balthier said to her over his shoulder, tilting up his chin and walking away with purpose.

Fran glanced at Harry before moving on herself. "I fear that his admittance does not concede the dangers of his choices. He requires minding."

"He should be glad to have you around then, hmm?"

They exited then, into blaring alarms and flashing red tones. Harry cringed and pointed the Elder wand at himself. "_Muffliato_." In a stealth situation it would not be wise to muffle sound, but with a group of this size they had little choice but to barrel through their opposition. At least without the constantly screaming noise he would be able to concentrate.

They wound through the same hallways they had entered from, guards coming at them from all angles. Occasionally one or more of his party would stop to take down a foe, and sometimes Harry himself would shoot off stunning spells, but mostly they simply ran, dodging blows and trying to keep together. It was too dangerous to stay and fight, not with more guards appearing every moment. The stream seemed to be endless. Harry didn't know if he'd ever run this much in his life, not even as a child. And, while he liked to think that Quidditch and Defense against the Dark Arts had tones him, two years in prison hadn't done him any favors.

He nearly toppled into Vossler when they rounded a corner and came to a sudden halt, and Harry peered around him to see why. It didn't take him long to understand why there were a young boy and girl there, especially not when the girl gasped Vaan's name and ran to him, burying her head in his chest.

She was a lovely girl in a way that radiated innocence and simplicity, pale blonde hair tied back over light skin. It surprised him, next to Vaan, that someone from a desert city could be so pale. He wondered if it was just in her genetics. The boy was shorter, younger, dressed in fine clothing. Harry made the obvious assumption of his identity even before he began stumbling over an apology to Vaan for his duplicity.

"Ghis knows you've escaped, you must hurry." His lips were set into a grim line as he turned to Vossler and have a curt nod. "You are Captain Azelas. You will follow me. We must reach the airships before they do."

Vossler seemed to stand taller, automatically at attention in reaction to the simple authority in Larsa's voice. "You would let us leave knowing who we are?"

Harry watched the young man in fascination as he sighed briefly and turned to Ashelia. "Lady Ashe. By all rights you ought not even to exist. That you and Captain Ronsenburg were made to appear dead... is like a hidden thread laid bare. Your actions hereafter will pull at that thread... and we will see what it unravels. This is our chance. We must see this through, and get to the bottom of it. I believe 'tis for the good of Dalmasca, and the good of the Empire."

Harry was a little in awe of someone so young that was so eloquent, son of an Emperor or not. The boy looked perfectly composed despite the blaring sirens and the two supposedly dead people that accompanied the party before him. Larsa bowed a bit a the waist at Ashelia, and put a hand into a breast pocket, biting his lower lip just visibly in the first sign of his age Harry had seen. He withdrew from his pocket something Harry couldn't identify through the bright glow it emitted, and shyly offered it to Vaan's friend Penelo with an offer of good fortune. She accepted it with a smile that made her pretty face look even younger still.

"We must make haste," Vossler said, breaking the moment as he glanced back at the door they'd come from. "Our position will not remain safe for long."

"Let us go, then," Larsa said, looking once more over each of them individually with a faint, encouraging smile. "I am sure we will meet again."

And somehow, Harry didn't doubt that in the least.

Basch drew his weapon once more, walking to the head of their group. "Ghis will not let us go without a battle. I beg you all to be ready." He stopped and looked back at them, his profile hard and fierce. "I will not fail the Princess again."

* * *

A/N: And so ends the Leviathan. Thankfully. Ungh. This and its redux have been my biggest blocks in this story, with huge chunks before and after written in lieu of finishing them. So if it seemed rushed or stunted, blame my frustration.

This chapter is a bit stilted, also, since I have been hemming and hawwing over when my giant deviation from canon is going to occur. In the next chapter Harry's role is going to grow amongst the group, but I'm thinking, at this point, that the real deviation will begin with the jungle and _really_ deviate come Mt. Bur-Omisace. But that's a lot of canon to go through, and I really don't want to write a retelling fic, so I'm mildly ill-at-ease.

I hope I've avoided boring those who know canon by telling this from Harry's point of view and focusing on the characters and relationships rather than the step-by-step movements, as well as capturing little behind the scenes moments... but I also wonder if this is seen as a copout. Any points of view on this are appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed this installment. Sorry it took so long, promise not to next time.


	4. Still Isn't There

Disclaimer: JKR and Square own the rights to all characters contained herein.

Typo hunting would be much appreciated.

* * *

**Embracing Absurdism**

_Near may be better than far, but it still isn't there..._

_

* * *

_

Harry sipped his tea with closed eyes, relishing in the simplicity of something like home. He'd prefer a cup of pumpkin juice for this effect, really, but he couldn't complain about a hot cup of what tasted like jasmine tea, the headache he had hardly been aware of fading into the background. He was bathed and fed richly, and languishing in simply relaxing for the first time… in years.

"A man after my own heart, appreciating a good cup like that," Balthier said dryly. "Fafsirion tea is a delicacy, and I've not had it in years. I suppose a Marquis would have connections that a Sky Pirate does not though, hmm?"

"Fafsirion, hm?" Harry mused, taking another sip. "It's a lot like a tea we had back home, but it was called Jasmine. It isn't the kind of tea I normally drank, but it is still fantastic."

"I'm interested to hear more of this 'home' of yours. How different was it, really?"

Harry let Balthier refill his teacup with a nod of thanks, tipping back and watching Vaan and Penelo nibble cookie-like pastries while Basch spoke quietly with his Princess nearby. "Not as different as it seems sometimes. And yet…" he sighed and blew his newly steaming cup. "And yet it is nothing like this. This world of monarchs and monsters is nothing like my own. But how can I explain it to you? If I had books I might be able to show you the wars of my time, the guns that could fire thousands of bullets in a minute, the bombs that destroyed civilizations. Or maybe even if my magic wasn't going haywire I could show you the things my people can do, backwards though that society is."

"I guess asking so broadly us unfair." Balthier said, smiling faintly as Fran joined them, flicking her fingers at an offer of tea and crossing her legs. "So I'll just have to ask more precise questions as I come up with them."

Harry finished his second cup and set it back in the saucer, slumping bonelessly back. The Marquis and one of his feline advisers – Revs were what that race was called, Fran had informed him – joined the Princess and Basch. "That would probably be easier."

"I fear we should not tarry here," said Fran as the conversation lulled. "Now that our task is done, it would be prudent to go whilst we remain ahead."

Balthier hummed. "I suppose you're right, luv. Off to the next grand adventure, right?" He paused, throwing back the last bit of tea in his cup and setting it down on the table before them. "First thing in the morning we'll depart for hitherto unknown places. Does this sound acceptable to you, Harry?"

He had been frowning, picking at a loose thread on the arm of his chair. He'd known the group wouldn't be together for much longer, but he was surprised by how sad he was to see his miniature adventure end… and to see the people he'd gotten close to walk away. He found himself growing inexplicably fond of both Balthier and Fran. But with the life he knew they led, he doubted he'd see them again anytime soon.

So the sudden question startled him enough to leave him staring blankly at Balthier for long seconds. "Huh?"

The man gave him an exasperated sigh. "Do you have any objections to leaving first thing in the morning?"

"You want me to come _with_ you?"

Fran hid a smile behind her hand, looking away. "Was that not obvious?"

"I'm far too much of a gentleman to let someone without any connections or a home to go to be wandering Ivalice alone. And besides that," Balthier said, smirking and leaning into Harry's personal space, "there is far too much for me to learn about you, yet."

Often in the coming weeks, Harry would wonder what it would have been like if they had simply… escaped from the others, free to ride the skies in the _Strahl_ and without a country's fate riding on their shoulders. But an impediment came in the form of a certain stubborn Princess, demanding that Balthier kidnap her to take her to where she could find the proof of her birthright: Raithwall's Tomb.

* * *

Harry trailed near the back of the group, limping in his attempt to put as little pressure as possible on his foot. The magic of this world was amazing, and the healing magic doubly so... but it was not perfect. Cuts still scarred if not healed quickly enough, potions were notoriously finicky on what kind of injuries were curable, and even a combination of the two could not stop his foot from being terribly tender after having over half of the bones it in it broken.

They had hidden the Strahl near a dead-end in the desert at the foot of a cliff. It was highly unlikely that anyone would find the position once Balthier had made the damned thing invisible. Harry had been missing his invisibility cloak for weeks, but to find out that technology could replicate it? It was a bit depressing.

It was only after they had taken flight that Harry had asked about supplies, much to the chagrin of his teammates. But consensus had been reached quickly that a stop by Rabanastre, while it would cost them a day of travel time, was important to properly outfit everyone and be sure there were supplies for the journey ahead. In Bhujerba, after all, they hadn't been anticipating a trek through the desert.

"Umm..."

Harry looked up, startled. Penelo had dropped back to walk beside him, a hesitant smile on her lips. He returned it as best as he could, and this seemed to bolster her.

"Harry, right?" He nodded. "Are you feeling alright? You look like you're in pain."

He almost snapped at her for asking such a stupid question before realizing it had happened before they had met up with her and Larsa. He gave a forced grin. "Oh, I'm just a little sore. Nothing big."

The wash of a cure went over him instantly, and he was amazed to feel much of the stiff pain in his foot recede to bearable levels. Penelo was blushing lightly and smiling. "Does that feel any better? I'm still kind of new to magic, but I've always been good with healing..."

"No, it feels great now. Thank you. Fran thought it wasn't going to get any better by magic."

Penelo shrugged and swung her head, smiling towards where the group walked ahead. "Vaan was always getting himself in trouble when we were kids. I can't count how many twisted ankles and bruised ribs I had to heal. I guess I just got really good at it."

He thought it was more than that, but she seemed to believe that to be truth. He let it be. "A good skill to have, I think."

She gave a pleased grin and put her hand on his elbow, tugging at him. "Come on, if we get to the Eastern Sprawl while we're this far behind, we'll lose the others in the crowd."

"All right," Harry said easily, moving more quickly now that his foot was healed. He didn't bother to point out how unlikely it would be that they could possibly lose track of their odd group, or how Vaan would sooner cut off his arm than let Penelo out of his sight again for more than five minutes. The boy was devoted, Harry would give him that.

Things began looking familiar as they walked off of the skybridge and turned onto the Eastern Sprawl's main square. It had only been a few weeks, but time seemed to drag on when you were constantly in fear for your life. Harry was an expert on such things.

A reptilian Bangaa (though Balthier had sternly informed him to _never_ compare them to lizards where they could hear) lay sprawled across the walkway, and people stepped to the side to avoid him. He heard a few of the human – _Hume_, he reminded himself – Rabanastrans grumbling uncomplimentary things under their breaths, but mostly people just stepped over him without a second glance. Harry did the same, but with a pinched frown and a furrowed brow.

There were may things about this town he didn't understand. Despite being occupied by enemy soldiers, the citizens seemed all too compliant and willing to continue their day to day lives. The different species were almost entirely integrated despite their vast differences, but the specism was as rife here as it was in the Wizarding World. And nearly every person he saw was entirely affluent and looked... bored. There seemed to be little crime, and despite what Vaan had said about the huge number of orphans, he had yet to see a single child that did not have a parent attached dotingly to their hand. Perhaps adoption was near absolute here? But that was countered directly by Vaan and Penelo, and Vaan had made mention of the orphans he was close with as if it was a present situation.

"Right," Balthier said with a groan, rolling his shoulders. "Everyone needs to gather their own supplies." Here, he paused and frowned towards where Vaan was bobbing lightly on the balls of his feet. "Do try not to waste gil, but be sufficiently prepared. The Sandseas are not an easy stroll. And do not neglect your gambits!" With a final sigh, Balthier turned and made a straight line towards the pub, Fran trailing behind him, leaving Harry with the two youngest, Basch, and the Princess. Harry surreptitiously watched the Princess from the corner of his eye, rather captivated by the forlorn look on her face as she looked from side to side, up and down storefronts and at each passing face. She cared, he was sadly surprised to note, she cared for her country and her people to a deep degree, and in this moment it was obvious. He watched her right hand clench her left, two fingers pinching the band on her ring finger, as she breathed in deeply and set her shoulders.

"Hey, Vaan?" Penelo said, her attention down the lane rather than on whom she spoke to. "I need to go pick up some stuff at home and make sure Kyte and the boys will behave themselves. Can you get my supplies, too?"

Vaan looked severely discomfited by this. "Why not just do it after we get stuff?"

She huffed. "I'm not going to disappear, you know. And Balthier is impatient, so I'd really rather just get things done. It is efficient this way, okay?" She smiled at her friend and smoothed a hand down his arm. "It won't take me any time at all. In fact," she spun abruptly and gave Harry a winning smile, "why not come with me, Harry? Maybe then Vaan won't be so worried about me."

Harry nearly commented that Vaan was _more _likely to worry since he was involved, but he caught the younger boy nodding slowly. "Yeah, alright. So long as Harry stays with you it's fine. Need anything specific, you two?"

With a flourish, Penelo pulled out a list and began explaining some of the notations to her friend, who already looked like he regretted his agreement. Harry hid a smile and tried not to dwell on the warm feeling Vaan's acceptance gave him. It was… odd. They still knew next to nothing about him, but either the two younger members of their odd party were entirely too trusting… or he'd done _something_ to make them see him as trustworthy. It worried him simply because, for all Vaan knew, he wasn't.

Penelo finished dictating all she needed and made sure Vaan's hands closed around the parchment she'd written things down on. "Meet you in Migelo's in an hour, kay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Vann said, sighing in exasperation towards Harry. "She's a handful; make sure she doesn't get too distracted, would ya?"

"I'll do my best."

Penelo grabbed his wrist then, pulling him towards a grated door in the wall between shops. She paused with her hand on the handle. "Umm, according to Vaan you're pretty new around here, and you don't really know what's going on. So, I think I should probably tell you what to expect."

"Expect?" Harry said softly, catching hesitancy in her suddenly soft words.

"Yeah." Penelo turned and smiled at him, a grim expression for the innocence and purity she normally projected. "We'll be going into Lowtown now. It's… kinda dark and a little depressing if you don't know any better." Her eyes were like fire as she set her jaw, tilting up her chin defiantly. "But it isn't. We may be stuck below the city, but we're way happier there than we'd have ever been up here. We have community, and we can all band together to help those who need it. Some people, maybe, aren't so nice… but we only have eachother. There is _nothing wrong_ with Lowtown."

He didn't really understand, but he made sure to do nothing but nod encouragingly as she smiled again, lighter this time, and turned back for the door.

The stairs spiraled down into darkness, only a few odd electric torches lining the walls. It, oddly enough, reminded him a bit of Hogwarts with the stone and the dim light, and he took a moment to imagine himself back there, exploring a new passageway with Ron and Hermione, creeping under his invisibility cloak past curfew.

The image was dispelled as they reached the bottom, and Harry tried not to let his cringe show on his face. Penelo's tight smile told him he hadn't succeeded. "Like I said, it might seem a little depressing."

It wasn't awful, certainly not as bad as he might have dreaded. But it was certainly not somewhere he could see himself living… thriving. And yet people did.

Much like the dungeons in Hogwarts, the stone ceiling hung low over their heads, and it seemed to be a labyrinth of passageways snaking off from the main thoroughfare. But unlike Hogwarts, this was a living space. He saw an elderly woman beating a rug outside a door, a group of Seeq children playing a game with sticks and pebbles in a corner. Down the hall he could see a man with slightly worse-for-wear vegetables trying to sell them to passersby.

Penelo took his wrist again and pulled him along. "Since Archadia took over, anyone without affluence or who makes a fuss gets thrown down here. We orphans have been down here all our lives. It isn't…" she paused and sighed, turning a corner. "Maybe it isn't the ideal place to live, but it really isn't so bad. We've made it our own."

And the more he looked, the more he could see that they had. Decorations and piles of treasures lined the passageways, strings of odd things like Christmas lights lined doorways. Children's laughter could be heard from every direction, and just in the distance he could see a fountain, the area lit brightly in contrast with the halls, merchants of all kinds gathering in the small square.

"I think it's pretty nice. I was thinking when we got to Rabanastre that everything seemed too… perfect up there. Too put together and flawless." Harry was reminded of the Dursley's suddenly and their obsession with seeming normal, or of the cookie-cutter houses all lining Privet drive. "Here feels more like… a home."

Penelo's smile was brilliant. "That's what I think, too. Oh, here we are. The boys are in their 'secret' place, so will you wait here?"

"Sure," he said with a bland smile as she climbed nimbly over some stacked crates, a muffled 'oof' telling him she'd landed on the other side.

He watched a Bangaa child chase a Hume toddler, laughing as he caught him and they tumbled to the ground. He hadn't been lying about rather liking it better down below, despite the gloomy lighting and the overall aura of… hopelessness it possessed. Even with the dreariness, it felt so much more… real. _This_ was what an occupied city ravaged by war should be. Not the placid, cotton-wrapped falsity of the surface.

And the people survived. Perhaps they didn't thrive, but they went on, they lived, and they made the best of what they had.

"Aww, Penelo, come on!"

"No way, Kytes. You'll be in charge, but I'm _trusting you_. You can't take advantage of everyone. And no stealing! None! I won't be here to bail you out of trouble, so you'd better be listening to me!"

Penelo reappeared over the top of the crate stack, a small head popping over her after in a moue of distaste. "Man, Penelo, you're such a drag."

"Maybe, but I'm just trying to keep you guys safe." She stopped and looked back up and him, a hand clenched over her heart. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you guys. So please, will you promise me?"

The young boy sighed and propped his head on a hand, leaning over the crate wall. "Alright, alright. I'll do what ya say."

"Thank you."

Harry smiled at her, receiving a slightly wobbling but honest smile in return. As they walked at a more sedate pace through the dark halls, he turned to her. "You're home now. Is there really any reason for you to go with them? I can tell your heart isn't in leaving."

The blonde sighed as she dodged a pacing woman and ducked with practice ease under the jovially exuberant arm of a conversing Seeq. "It's Vaan. He's finally gotten a taste of the adventure he's always been wishing for, and he's not going to want to come home until he's seen it through. And… he's really the only family I have left. I love all the kids around here, but Vaan is my best friend. And I think he needs me more than them."

He really saw a lot of Hermione in her, the deepest, sweetest parts that his friend had always tried to muffle with her bossy proclamations. He couldn't help but take Penelo's hand and squeeze it. "He's lucky to have to watching out for him, then. And I think you're right: he's going to need you. If my last experience traveling into uncharted territory with this group says anything, there'll be danger to come."

"I know it will work out," she said softly, squeezing back and dropping his hand. "Now come on, time's running out and I want to stop by my own secret place. I have a few things I need to get."

* * *

"There you two are," Balthier said, fingers tapping on his forearm. Behind him, Fran made an exasperated sound. "Finally."

"I insist we make haste. These delays are unnecessary," Ashe said, suddenly appearing at Balthier's side. The man rolled his eyes and his scowl deepened, and suddenly Harry wasn't wondering at his mood.

"I think, Princess," Harry said carefully, "that being prepared will help us make better time. If everyone is tired or hurt, we won't get very far very fast, will we? And it's nearly night anyway. It would probably be best to leave in the morning."

Her lips puckered as she scowled, nose turning up. "True though your words may be, I in no way asked for your opinion."

She left then, moving to where Vaan was outfitting himself in his new armor. Balthier sighed. "She is a trial."

"You mean, of course, that she's spoilt and snooty," Harry said with a frown, crossing his arms.

"You just defined royalty, I think."

"I don't like being ordered around."

Balthier smirked and glanced at him from the corner of his eye, "No, I didn't think you would. I fear I find myself knowing you a bit too well, if only because of our similarities."

"You and me?" Harry goggled. "You're kidding me."

"You don't have to make it sound like I insulted you."

Fran, whose eyes had followed the Princess and had yet to stop watching, cut in. "I sense misfortune will befall us soon. I do not know that this is the venture we should take."

The sudden seriousness made Harry sag, and he turned to watch the Princess barking orders to Vaan and Penelo, who scowled but followed her orders as they packed. "How do you figure?"

"Fran just knows these things sometimes," Balthier said in a grave voice. "Viera are far more in tune with… well, everything… than we are. Take care to watch your steps, Harry."

As Balthier made his way towards the other four members of their party, Harry found himself dipping into thought. Misfortune, huh? It wasn't like that was a stranger to him.

There seemed so little choice in this situation. Either he could stay with these people, the only people he knew in the entire _world_, or he could… what? He could stay in Rabanastre, in Lowtown with the orphans and work odd jobs? There wasn't much option when all he wanted was to find a way home… or, a tiny voice he tried to ignore said, at least an explanation for why he was there.

He felt useless amongst these people. With all their strengths he alone was more a liability than an asset, though his magic (when it worked) was unquestionably unique. He could do things the others could never hope to, if only it was more reliable. If he could use his magic properly, he thought, he could feel more at ease with his newfound companions. Maybe even… fit in.

"You are troubled."

Fran had a way with inserting herself, and Harry had to smile at her. "Maybe a little, but it is nothing."

She made the same exasperated sound at him that she had at Balthier minutes before, a 'tsk'ing noise deep in her throat. "It is not nothing, and so long as you toil you shall not find your peace."

Harry grimaced a bit. "You always know these things."

She smiled then faintly, just a curve of her dark lips. "You let your eyes betray your heart. Balthier was quite correct when he said the two of you were like."

He was left frowning as she softly moved away, still so lost in thought that he didn't argue when Balthier led him away.

* * *

"No, you must hold it more firmly." An exasperated sigh from his reluctant instructor. "That will do, but you might want to consider giving your poor knuckles the benefit of the doubt and not attempting to shatter them via brute force. No, no, don't look at me, look at your target. What _are_ you doing with your other hand? If you need to steady your aim you may do so, but you look as if you're attempting to crush the butt. Don't look at me like that, Harry, I'm imparting great wisdom to you."

Harry let his arm fall to his side, the gun still gripped in his left hand. "This is pointless!"

"Oh? So learning to defend yourself is meaningless?" Balthier gave a sharp smile. "You must come from a coddled place, indeed."

"I was far from coddled!" he snapped, spinning on his heel to glare angrily out at a weird little walking cactus that ambled past them. It swayed back and forth in response to his anger, silly smile plastered on its face. Harry's insides had yet to uncurl. "You have no idea about where I come from, so you should shut your mouth."

A warm hand pressed into his shoulder blade, sliding up to the back of his neck. Harry tensed more. "And you know very little of Ivalice. The sight of a common chocobo sent you reeling. While my suppositions on your life might offend you, your suppositions about this lifestyle will get you killed," Balthier said, hand squeezing Harry's neck lightly before letting his hand fall.

It was frustrating that he felt himself relax, shoulders slumping. Harry sighed. "Fine. Teach me about the gun. I can't say I'll ever use it, though."

An amused smirk. "I daresay you'll learn to use it well and come to rely on it over that stick of yours."

"This 'stick' is my wand."

Balthier went on as if Harry had never spoken. "Right, center target. You've not managed to hit it yet. Do it now."

Harry lifted the gun once more, trying to steady his shaking hands and line up the sight with the target. No matter how hard he tried, his hands still swayed and shook. The bullet he fired wound up buried in the sand almost a foot to the right of the target.

Balthier clucked his tongue, pushing down Harry's gun. "A gun must be an _extension_ of you, as any weapon should be. Your body should learn the exact movements to gain a result. You should be able to shoot with nary a thought." To illustrate this, Balthier lifted his arm to the side and glanced toward the center target, rapidly firing several shots. Harry's eyes rounded as he saw the barely misshapen hole in the center that showed that every bullet had hit the same point. "A weapon is ineffective if you have to furrow your brow and toil over your movements. You mustn't act for your weapon, your weapon must act for you."

"I just don't think I'm much for weaponry at all. I can't-"

"You said yourself that you were but a student in your own magicks before you arrived here. Had you all the skills needed with that stick of yours, this wouldn't even be of consequence. But as it is, you require weaponry. You have been trained in long-range combat with your stick, and as you don't have the arm strength for a bow, it is either a gun or a crossbow. Would you rather I asked if any of the others have experience in lugging a wooden contraption around and loading arrow-bolts? Or perhaps you would be interested in close-range combat with a little pointy object like young Vaan? Or… do you just find yourself too incompetent for this?"

Harry's jaw set. "I can do it."

"Right!" Brown eyes gleamed with something like triumph, and Harry realized that he had just been tricked. "Center target again, and I expect you to at least dent the thing. If you can't hit it, you'll be buying me drinks when next we return to civilization. Now get to it, Harry, the Princess would like to leave at first light and sleep beckons us both."

* * *

Harry sat down hard on the sand, panting lightly as he let the breeze ruffle his hair. He would never get used to deserts. The shores of the Ogir-Yensa Sandsea were a small improvement to the Westersand with a gritty wind blowing across their overheated bodies. Harry refused to move for at least ten minutes. The metal of the odd contraptions spanning the 'sea' didn't seem like they would be fun to traverse, nor did they look like they would house resting points.

"You are so uncivilized. How can you sit on that?"

Harry tipped back his head to meet Balthier's grimace. "Better to sit for a few minutes and rest than to collapse halfway across. What _is_ all that metal, anyway?"

"Formerly they were oil refineries, though they've fallen into disrepair." Balthier stepped forward to crouch at his side, and he leaned down to let his fingers dip into the roiling sea of sand. "I imagine that the use of flightstones and magicite took the demand for such crude resources down to nothing. It has probably been near to a century since they were abandoned. I'm surprised they have held up so well."

Harry turned more fully, catching brown eyes with green. "Excuse me? This is dilapidated machinery so long abandoned that you have no clue when it was even built, and you expect me to walk over it?"

Long fingers ruffled his hair. "Scared, Harry?" The smirk he was given was wicked, and Harry tried to ignore the blush creeping up his neck.

"Shut up, you git."

"You are so terribly uncouth. How we ever assumed you were affluent is beyond me."

"Care to shove those words up your-" Harry cut himself up as Penelo skipped towards them, hands landing on her hips as she planted her feet.

"We've got to get going! Up, both of you!"

"I've only just sat down!" Harry said with a groan. "We walked all the way through the Westersands to get here. Don't we deserve a rest?"

"It won't stay light forever, you know!"

She moved on almost as quickly as she had joined them, leaving Balthier with a comically exasperated expression. "Oft I wonder what gods I offended to be saddled with so many children snapping at my heels."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Those 'children' are hardly a few years younger than you. I think Basch is the one who should be complaining about that; he is the oldest by far."

"I am, at that." Harry was unsurprised to turn and meet pale blue eyes, though that Basch was willingly conversing with him was odd in and of itself. "Though it will be many more years yet until I have passed my prime."

"Hmm, well, I shan't be the one to harm your pride, Captain." Balthier stood and stretched his arms over his head, arching his back with several audible pops. "I suppose we shouldn't keep the ladies waiting. The Princess looks short on patience this afternoon."

"Lady Ashe remains merely eager to collect her birthright. Yet another three days will pass before we reach Raithwall's Tomb and it has been several days since our liberation from the Leviathan. You must understand her plight."

Balthier grumbled under his breath. "Yes, heavens forbid that the Lady be made to wait like us ordinary humes."

Basch surely heard but chose to ignore the pirate, pulling his newly acquired axe from his belt. "I sense trouble will come to us. Be on your guards."

Harry's fingers moved over his own belt, brushing past his pouch and fingering the hilt of his gun. He didn't feel comfortable using it, his terrible aim notwithstanding. Magic didn't have recoil and the smell of death. He wrapped his fingers around the Elder Wand instead, rolling it between his fingers as he jogged to catch up with the group. Using his 'odd' magic still made some of the group wary of him, but Harry would live.

He wasn't with them to make friends, after all. He was with them to find the truth about why he had been brought there.

It was hard to remember that, though when he was risking his life beside these people. He learned new things about his happenstance companions every day, and it drew him deeper into their world. He found sympathy for the hardest moments in their lives, common ground in their mission, laughter at their colloquies and repartee.

He found his eyes darting to Vaan or Penelo when one or the other let out a disparaged sigh. The parallels between them and Ron and Hermione were not lost on him. He often drifted to walk near Fran for her silent poise and uncanny intuition, shades of Luna shining through in a far more worldly package. He enjoyed watching Basch fight, envying the man's easy, practiced movements and the staunch loyalty that reminded him of Remus. The Princess was far too much like Malfoy in her expectations that everyone would bend over backwards for her happiness, but he also admired her drive to restore her Kingdom and save her people, though he had yet to glimpse much of that side of her. And Balthier...

Unarguably, Harry had grown closest to the man. It seemed that the pirate had never much cared about his origins, only looked to him as something of a puzzle to solve. He seemed amused by Harry if nothing else, and Harry found himself honestly amused in return. Unlike the others, there was no comparison for Harry to Balthier. He couldn't think of a single person he'd ever known with that suave manner and nonchalant attitude, delicate aristocracy belied by his sharp tongue. He was a puzzle to Harry as well, and one that he found himself enjoying studying very much.

"Are you coming Harry, or do you plan on becoming fertilizer for the Alraune?"

Harry fought and lost against the urge to stick out his tongue, earning him a chuckle from his companion. But he hurried forward nonetheless, jogging up the sloping metal ramp onto the aged oil rigs. Somehow, in the back of his mind, Harry knew that this wouldn't be the end of their journey.

Not by a long shot.

* * *

"I think tomorrow we should have Basch as the lead, me on healing, and Harry for backup. We're the most rested, right?" Harry nearly cheered as Penelo suggested it to the nods of the rest of the group.

"I believe that will be fine," said Ashe, setting down one of the rucksacks. "And in the afternoon we can rearrange to myself, Balthier, and Vaan."

Harry took care not to throw his own rucksack to the ground, setting it down as gently as possible with wooden arms. He hadn't realized how exhausting carrying so many items could be, and it seemed that every enemy they killed had new things to harvest. The main group would scout ahead and clear a path while the rest of them trailed with their goods, picking off whatever stragglers were missed.

It was so draining. The desert seemed to sap every ounce of life from him.

But the sky was slowly darkening now as they made their way under the cover of one of the oil rigs, a chilled breeze ruffling Harry's hair. It was wonderful against the damp portions of his clothing that were exposed, but his armor blocked most of the relief. He reached around his side and began undoing the buckles, sliding them free with a happy sigh as he reached the last one.

"I advise against removing your protection. This desert holds yet many dangers, and even during the night we must remain wary."

Harry turned and blinked at Basch, nodding his head despite his reluctance to continue wearing the light armor. Basch was the most experienced in their group by far, though Vossler was probably quite knowledgeable as well. Vossler, though, refused to even look at anyone but Basch and the Princess. Something about him made Harry's chest tighten. It wasn't fear... but it made him wary.

He pulled at the armor instead, trying to get a breeze under it to his gritty skin. He would kill for a shower. Of all the material things he missed, nothing could compare to showers. There was some kind of plumbing in this world, but all bathing was in tubs. Harry wasn't sure if they just hadn't gotten that technology yet or if it was outdated. Everything about Ivalice was an odd combination of archaic and futuristic.

"If you are overheated, be glad that the night comes. Night in the desert is as cold as the day is hot."

Harry sat at the edge of their little campsite, looking back over the Sandsea with a sigh. "It can't come fast enough. I think I'm well-done by now."

"Luck to you that you are not an Ustrix, for fear we may be ravenous enough to consider you a meal."

With a snorted laugh, Harry all but collapsed backward, falling back onto propped elbows and staring up at the stars. The angle allowed the tiny breeze that flickered around him to toy with the bottom hem of his shirt, exposing a sliver of skin to cool. Harry sighed in relief and closed his eyes, letting the sounds of his companions fade away.

When his eyes fluttered open long minutes later, it was only to immediately tense and coil, hand automatically dropping to where his wand and gun rested. A flicker of brilliant light – a lantern? – stood stark against the blackening shadows of the Sandsea.

A hand fell onto his shoulder. "Fear not, it will not come to us. It merely soaks the last of the sun's rays."

He glanced up at Basch, still mildly amazed that the man continued to speak to him. What had changed? He pursed his lips. "What is it?"

Basch shifted and sunk to sit beside him, an arm propped on an upraised knee. "An entite. Legend tells that the gods favored Man with the gift of fire at the beginning of time. Man was grateful and learned much from the flame. But Man was as foolish then as he remains this day, and peace cannot be eternal. War fell upon Man, and he used the gods' gift to fight, taking life with the fire that had been given to further his own."

Harry tracked the light, the entite, with his eyes. The sun barely peeked over the farthest horizon.

"This angered the gods greatly, for they had only wished to bestow upon Man warmth and knowledge. In retribution, they scorched the entirety of the world from corner to corner in a blaze so hot that it is said to have fell stars. And from this inferno the Salmand Entite was born, cursed to only appear when the sun is hot and the skies clear."

"The myths of this place are very depressing."

Basch chuckled. "I always believed the same when I was but a boy. But if my years have taught me anything, it is that life oft takes the least preferable of paths."

"Preferable doesn't always equal right, you know. Sometimes it is the hardest ones that lead to the happiest ending for us."

"Happy endings?" Harry looked away with an embarrassed blush as Basch peered at him. "You are a bit old to believe in such things, are you not?"

"Cynicism does not suit you, Captain." Harry blushed an even deeper shade as Balthier inserted himself into the conversation, sitting himself down impetuously between them and fidgeting with his cuffs. "The leading man always saves the day, and there is always a happy ending. As if I could abide by any other course. Don't let him tell you differently, Harry."

"I wasn't—"

"Hey, what are all of you guys over here for?" Penelo now. "Oh, Harry! Look at that light; what is it?"

"It's an entite—"

Sand sprayed over Harry's lap as Vaan flopped down by his feet. "What's an entite?"

Harry threw an overwhelmed look to Basch and received an altogether amused one in return. From a standing position. "I bid you all a fair night."

Harry nearly called out to him to beg rescue, but he saw the kind light in Basch's eyes felt his mouth snap shut. With a conscious effort Harry relaxed and let the company wash over him. It was almost... nice to feel a part of the group rather than an outsider. So Harry swallowed a sigh and turned to look towards the entite, listening as Balthier mocked Vaan's lack of education, only for Vaan to retort something rather crude about Balthier's mother. It only lasted a few minutes before Balthier left in a huff and Penelo pulled Vaan (by the ear, even) to apologize, but even a few moments made Harry feel lighter somehow... and perhaps just a bit more hopeful for what was to come.

* * *

The air was cloyingly thick, asphyxiating. He felt like every muscle in his body was coiled tightly enough to snap at any provocation, and Harry hunched his shoulders as he paused just inside the Tomb of Raithwall. "I don't like it here. I have a very bad feeling about this place."

"Then perhaps you should stay behind." It was said amicably enough, but the hardly restrained sneer on the man's lips told another story. Harry scowled.

"Like hell-"

A hand fell onto Harry's shoulder, and only the newly familiar motion of it sliding to the back of his neck and squeezing kept Harry from lashing out. Instead he felt his tense muscles unwind, and though Harry stepped away from Balthier's attempt at calming him, he stayed silent.

Balthier had a long finger tapping against his lips, which did nothing to hide the sharp smirk upon them. "Harassing those half your age doesn't seem a very knightly thing to do, Vossler. Do you have a grievance?"

The previously restrained sneer was prominent now. "Nothing I would discuss with you, Pirate."

"Then why not toddle off to your princess, hmm? I am sure _someone_ has need of you."

The implication of Vossler's lack of worth was a rather low blow, and Harry could practically see the rage building in the man's eyes. Balthier was foolishly brash sometimes, something Harry couldn't help but admire.

It was the Gryffindor in him.

But the Slytherin in him, sheltered and repressed though it was, was even more impressed by the precise accuracy of those blows, the way Balthier delivered them with a cool finality that drove the barbs home. Harry would never have such a handle on his emotions. But the way Vossler turned on his heel and walked stiffly back towards where Princess Ashe and Basch were planning was very... satisfying.

"I don't need to be protected, you know." He met brown eyes with green, folding his arms over his chest.

Balthier's eyebrow arched. "Whomever said you did? It is the job of a leading man to rescue all those in distress."

"Isn't that generally damsels?" Harry said with a wry grin, letting his hands fall to his sides as he made to move past the pirate.

Fingers ran along his jaw line, freezing Harry in place. He shivered as they slid under his chin to tilt his face upward. Harry refused to acknowledge the rapid staccato of his pulse or the flush he could feel heating his cheeks, warmed even more by the feeling of breath fanning over his skin. Balthier was grinning wickedly down at him, which also did nothing to help Harry's blush. "A true leading man makes no distinction when there is saving to be done."

Harry forced himself to bat the hand away, grimacing as he tried to control his breathing.

"This place is seriously creepy. And why is there fog underground?" Vaan's nose was wrinkled, but his light eyes were dancing as they darted around the large chamber. "Those doors are where we're going, right?"

Harry was relieved for the distraction, immediately turning to look at Vaan. "I don't see anywhere else to be going."

"Fran says that the fog is Mist, and it is kinda dangerous. So be careful, Vaan, alright?" Penelo surprised him as she appeared at their sides, her lips pursed into a thin line.

Her words caught up to him and he stood up straighter. Mist? Like what had brought him to this world? He simultaneously panicked and celebrated. What if he could get back from this place? He could get back to Ron and Hermione, escape this odd world with its unfamiliar magic and people. He could finally be back somewhere that he _knew _and _understood_...

And be the Boy-Who-Lived once more, hero of the Wizarding world.

The thought made his stomach clench.

Who was to say he would even appear back in his own world? What if he had to start over all over again in a new one? There was no guarantee that he would wind up finding a group like the one he had, no way of telling whether there would be anyone to accept him and integrate him into their world. He could be killed outright for being lost as he was.

The others were moving down the stairs and to a central bridge, but Harry lagged behind, staring at the devie that had allowed them to enter the tomb. He couldn't bring himself to touch it again, but the feelings lodged in his throat, swirling with his trepidation of being in the place. It had reminded him of portkey travel, and it was nostalgic for him.

Penelo and Vaan were arguing now, her hands on her hips as Vaan's nose and cheeks turned slowly more red.

"I'm not one of the kids, Penelo! I'm older than you are."

"Maybe if you acted it once in a while I wouldn't have to worry all the time!"

"Hey! I act my age all the time!"

"I think you might be confusing your age with the size of your shoes!"

And then a hand was falling heavily onto each of their shoulders, a faint smile twisting Basch's lips. "I think that is enough, you two. You've woken every fiend from here to Rabanastre with your feuding."

Harry heard Balthier chuckle behind him, and resisted the urge to jump. He hadn't thought the man was still there.

Penelo stomped by Vaan now, nose upturned. "Fine! Go get yourself eaten by bats, then. Harry? Can I walk with you?"

He found himself nodding against his better judgment. She was a nice girl and seemed to not have a captious bone in her body, easily accepting Harry despite all the things about him that were unknowns for the party. But she was also rather simple and innocent, as well as endlessly optimistic. It was sweet, but it made it very difficult for Harry to relate to her.

She hummed as they began moving back towards where Ashe and Vossler were waiting, her hands linked behind her back. "So, Harry, don't you think this place is eerie?"

"Yeah..." he sighed. "I don't like it much."

"Neither do I. But if the Princess needs this nethicite... well, it is important for us to go, right?"

He didn't bother pointing out how little he understood about the need for a crystal to prove a person's identity, even after Ashe's explanation of Raithwall's treasures. "I think so. I just hope that getting it is enough."

"Of course it will be!" Vaan again, sidling up to walk at Penelo's side with his hands clasped behind his head. "We'll get the Dawn Shard for Ashe and then we can kick all those Imperials out of Rabanastre. Then we can go on great adventures, Penelo!"

Harry nearly envied the surety Vaan could infuse with those words.

They made their way down the stairs, waiting at the base for the rest of the group before they walked across the long walkway to the double doors at the end. Harry's eyes were drawn to grotesque carvings along the wall, a gnarled monster's face staring down at him.

"Wow, that is really ugly."

Harry let out a surprised laugh, smiling over at Penelo as they began the walk across the bridge. "Yeah, I think so too. But I suppose that ominous ruins have some kind of guidelines for being properly creepy."

In the minutes following that same wall would attack, and when they escaped through the doors in the distance, another sprung up coming towards us.

"Threat to front and threat behind, we must choose," Fran said, holding her bowstring taut. "We can neither turn back nor continue without a fight."

"Then we move forward," Ashe said, her shoulders thrown back and her head held high. "I will not give up this opportunity for the whims of... of masonry!"

"As my lady demands." Vossler lunged down the path towards the wall, striking out with his sword as Fran loosed her arrow.

To Harry's side, Vaan was muttering at a lantern. "This is weird. What is this?"

Balthier reloaded his pistol after firing, glaring at them. "You two, participate. Now."

As he spoke Vaan pressed a small indented portion of the lantern. "Huh..."

Harry cursed as he pulled out he wand, scowling. "Don't _touch_ things that you don't know what they do, Vaan! It's moving faster!"

"Argh!" Ashe fell to one knee only a foot from the wall, blood running down her arm.

He could see Penelo frantically calling up a healing spell, but Harry raced forward. "_Impedimenta!"_ The wall slowed its forward momentum momentarily, inching with bare movements instead of the slow crawl it had been proceeding at. Harry wracked his brain. He needed a spell that would work on stone. Stunners and the like were only meant to work on functioning human bodies, so what could he... Balthier had run forward to seize the still-fallen Princess, shoving her back and out of the path of the jagged, pointed feet that were speeding up gradually. Harry set his jaw and fired, "_Expulso!_"

The Demon Wall exploded in a shower of rocks, pelting them all more or less harmlessly. He sagged to the ground in the aftermath. The room was spinning and his blood was pouding behind his eyes.

"Right, that was impressive enough, Harry. Could you do that a bit sooner next time?"

He looked up with a wan smile, trying to ignore the suspicious look Vossler shot him or the uncomfortable look on Vaan's face. "I'll get right on that."

Basch's hand found his shoulder and pulled him to his feet, surveying him. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine, I think," said Harry, breathing deeply. "Let's just move on. I don't want to stay here any longer than we have to."

* * *

Vaan chattered at his side as they descended staircase after staircase, but Harry could hardly hear anymore. The dizziness from before was back tenfold, with white spots dancing at the corners of his vision. They hit the final landing and he could see a great beast ahead, towering over them as it drew a weapon from the ground.

But Harry was hardly even able to process the group tossing out orders for battle, directing people to the frontlines or the remain as backup. Instead, he felt the mist released by the beast's animation rush him, clouding his vision until he couldn't see beyond the veil of it, and somewhere beyond...

_"We miss you so much, Harry_."

The mist seemed to solidify, five forms circling him. He jarred at the impact of his knees hitting the stone floor, but he could hardly be bothered as his heart broke.

Ron. Hermione. Neville. Luna. _Ginny_.

_"You've been gone so long."_

Someone was shaking his shoulder, but he couldn't look away. When they spoke, their mouths didn't move, and he was nearly sure this was just what his mind wanted to see, but he relished in that moment, seeing something like the faces of the ones he loved for the first time in so long.

_"We love you, Harry."_

This wasn't real. He knew it wasn't. But the pain certainly was, both physical and emotional. He listened to them whisper to him (_"We named our first child after you, Harry, we hope you don't mind. We tell him stories of our adventures every night."_) and became aware of a... pulling. It started deep within him, a stirring trickle that built to a stream being pulled from him. He may have cried out but he couldn't be sure, but he felt the impact of his head hitting the stairs as he slid down the last few of them, realized he could no longer see the apparitions. The escaping - no, it was being _stolen - _stream had turned into a rushing river now, and the pain was like fire in his veins.

All went dark.

* * *

A/N: There's actually quite a bit of plot setup going on in here, I'm proud of me. I really like how Harry and Balthier would have chemistry... well, in my mind at least. ;P


	5. To Change

Disclaimer: JKR and Square own the rights to all characters contained herein.

Finally, some real divergence from canon. Things will still come back to the canon plotline, but we can finally branch away now. Sorry this took so long, loves. In the last year my daughter and I have relocated cross country, gotten set up with my fiancé here in Chicago, and my job has been taking up pretty much all my free time. But I've _missed_ writing. So here I am, and hopefully without any more stunts like this one.

* * *

**Embracing Absurdism  
**_It takes care, it takes patience and fear and despair… to change_

* * *

"Magic runs deep in him, deeper than in Humes. He hurts."

"Fran, luv, you're going to have to be a bit more forthcoming than that."

Harry awoke to voices, the familiar tones of Balthier's voice clipped. He tried to open his eyes and failed.

"Magic twines deep within him. No stones give him power; power comes from within him. The Dawn Shard craves magic, and magic he has. And so it takes."

"You're telling me that that bloody rock is what made him pass out?"

"I do. He is a being of magic, a magic more pure than any this stone has ever encountered. The guardian of the stone merely sped what was inevitable. Hume he may be, but not a Hume of this world. He is in danger the longer we linger here."

"Then we'll just have to vacate, won't we?"

Harry managed to force open his eyes, lashes fluttering in the dark, thick atmosphere of the tomb. He made out the vaguest outlines of Balthier and Fran to his right, very close, before his eyes rolled back and darkness claimed him once more.

* * *

"Are you _mad_, Vossler?"

"If we are to save Dalmasca, we must accept the truth. I will fight this profitless battle no more!"

Harry again awoke to voices, dazed and confused. An arm was clamped almost painfully around his waist to keep him upright, and blinking open his eyes he could see only blurred shades of bronze and gold.

"Captain Azelas has struck a wise bargain. In return for the Deifacted Nethicite you hold, the Empire will… allow Lady Ashe to take the Dalmascan throne. Think of it, Princess, what use is the Dawn Shard to you? With only this smallest concession, you may return to your people. What is the nethicite in comparison to the lives and livelihood of your every subject, your Majesty?"

Nethicite? He'd heard that word before. It was what those mines in Bhujerba had been used to produce. Harry blinked rapidly, concentrating on what could only be the ornate lines and patterns of Balthier's vest, breathing slowly and deeply to keep himself conscious. The voice speaking was familiar. He lifted his head as far as he could manage and looked over Balthier's shoulder, seeing armored guards surrounding them and metal fixtures and gratings reminiscent of the Leviathan. Were they on it once more, or was it a different ship?

Warm skin, rough with stubble, pressed to his cheek, and hot breath came with whispered words against his ear. "Move not, Harry. You are yet weak. We shall strike out to escape soon, but we must bide our time. Lay your head and be silent."

Harry let his forehead press against Balthier's collarbone, trying to concentrate on the conversation surrounding him.

"Your Majesty, please think on this," Basch said plaintively from somewhere near Balthier. "Your people would not want a puppet for a Queen, nor would they wish to be the toys of the Empire."

A chuckle came then, of a sort that made Harry stiffen. The voice was older, lined with false politeness. "Captain fon Ronsenburg, you speak out of station. I believe Princess Ashelia is capable of making her own decisions. So, your Highness? Will you fight on, endanger your people and your homeland, doom your nation to destruction… all for this bit of rock? Or will you be wise and give me the Dawn Shard so you might return to your people?"

He heard Ashe let out a hissing breath and knew her decision. For all that she was haughty and demanding, the Princess cared for her people above all other things. While Harry might have thought many uncomplimentary things of the woman in the weeks since they'd met, he'd never doubted her devotion to her country… and now it was exactly that that was being used against her.

"Damn you, Ghis." He could see movement from the corner of his eyes, and assumed it was the Princess handing over the stupid rock they'd just gone through all that trouble to acquire.

"To think," Ghis said in a hushed tone bordering on awe. "The relics of the Dynast-King were Deifacted Nethicite. Doctor Cid will be beside himself."

The arm around his waist tightened enough to hurt, squeezing the breath from him. Balthier's voice was choked. "What did you say?"

His outburst was ignored as Gris ordered Vossler (that damned _traitor_, Harry'd known there was something off about him) to take them to something called Shiva – another ship, Harry assumed. Balthier's grip hardly lessened, and he could feel the way the man shook in some suppressed emotion.

What had Ghis – his presence proved to Harry that they were on the Leviathan once more – called the Dawn Shard? _Deifacted Nethicite_. He'd never heard the word 'deifacted' in his life, but it sounded ominous. His tone had been one of reverence. That kind of covetous appreciation of any relic spelt bad news for them all. He had experience enough with Voldemort to know that.

Harry was jarred back to reality as he was lifted from the ground, fingers curled around his thigh and shoulder.

"Hey," the tinny voice of a guard said. "This one needs to be manacled as well."

Harry felt Balthier's fingers tighten.

"Tsh, what will he do with a burden in his arms? Do _you_ want to carry the scrawny one, Philsep?"

"Well, no…"

"They're to be transferred to the _Shiva_ and then taken to that desert pit Rabanastre. They'll not be our responsibility soon."

"What is the delay?" Vossler's voice. Harry wanted to scowl, but kept himself limp in Balthier's hold, eyes closed with his temple pressed to his shoulder.

"Err, sir," the one called Philsep said hesitantly. "With this one holding the other one, we can't put on the shackles."

"Leave it. The pirate is far too attached to his cargo to endanger it, and without his weapon he is all but useless. Come, the transport to the Shiva has arrived."

Harry could feel the low, controlled exhalation of air from Balthier that was surely an attempt to stay calm. Harry jerked as Balthier was pushed forward. "Move," another guard growled.

Harry wanted to be standing on his own. He wanted to fight back as he heard Penelo cry out when a guard pushed her too hard into the transport. He wanted to pull out his wand and curse Vossler until he could hardly move for betraying them. But he played possum, jerked from Balthier's grip and jostled into a seat in the airship by painful metal grips.

Breathing kind of hurt, he realized. As the soldiers began making preparations to take them to the _Shiva_, Harry finally had a moment to think about his collapse in the Tomb of Raithwall. He had fuzzy recollections of seeing ghostly recreations of his loved ones, the phantom sensations of falling as they told him they loved him. Had that been real or was it a figment of his dizzy, exhausted mind? He also remembered waking briefly to hear Fran explaining that he had had his magic sucked from him by the Dawn Shard.

He had to stifle a gasp, dread settling over him and making him stiffen against his will. It had _sucked out his magic_? He could remember the bone-deep exhaustion and dizziness that had overtaken him, and remembered that this wasn't the first stone he'd been around of its kind. There had been the other as well, the Dusk Shard. Harry fought not to panic at having his magic, his one and only barrier from utter uselessness, ripped from him. How would he survive without it? He felt so pathetic; he'd only been aware of the existence of magic for nine years but it already felt like he would die without it.

"Shh," came a hush from behind, and he balled his fists. "You musn't be so tense. The guards will surely see if you hold yourself so stiffly."

He thought it was Basch, and forced himself to go limp once more, but he couldn't stop the rapid staccato of his heartbeat or the way he wanted to scream. He _couldn't_ have lost his magic. It was all he _had_.

They were landing now, it felt like, and he assumed it was on the airship _Shiva_. He never thought he would want to be back on the ground so badly. He loved flight, had been in awe of the _Strahl_ and the beautiful city of Bhujerba… but these Empire ships were nothing like those things. They were sucking away the freedom of flight, and he hated them for it.

He was yanked into a semblance of an upright position by cold, metal fingers, and it took every bit of him not to jerk away. It wasn't until he was lifted again and his head was propped against the rough embroidery of Balthier's vest that he truly relaxed again.

He wanted to dwell more on the possibility that he was – _useless, empty, ordinary_ – without his magic, but the clanking of the grating under the feet of their group halted suddenly as they stopped. Had they arrived wherever it was they were being taken?

He heard a pained gasp followed by an agonized groan, all in Fran's lilting voice. Had the guards harmed her? Why had everyone stopped? Harry's legs were slid to the floor by Balthier and he took a moment to steady his balance.

But then he felt it.

It pulsed from within, making Harry take a sharp intake of breath. Heady and dizzying, it rang through his bones, made his toes curl inward and his spine straighten. He opened his eyes and was met with a hangar similar to the one they'd walked through on the Leviathan, all platforms over gaping space for airships, but this one looked _alive_.

His vision was blurred still – he vaguely noted that his glasses were gone, but only hoped someone had picked them up – but even with the scenery being little better than blurs of color, those colors were like shocks of light. He hadn't realized how dull the world had seemed in the previous weeks until then, when everything was oversaturated in vibrant hues.

A scream ripped his attention to Fran, and Harry wondered if he was in a dream. She leapt and kicked at guards, black and brown and white left in streaks behind her movements. Harry giggled as he took a step back vaguely noting the fingers that still lay on his hips. No matter.

He spied a guard over Balthier's shoulder that was unsheathing his sword, obviously only just coming out of shock. Harry's wand was out before he realized he was drawing it. "Confrigo." The guard was blasted back, and Harry quickly lost track of him in the shadows as he fell from the platform.

Another guard was running towards him. He finally stepped away from Balthier and raised his wand again, twisting it in a downwards spiral. "Impedimenta." The guard tripped over his own feet and fell to one knee. "Relashio." The sword clattered to the ground. "Stupefy."

The guard went limp in a dead faint, and Harry turned to watch Fran leap in a scissor kick to knock out two remaining guards. His companions were conversing now, but Harry hardly heard them. Colors were brightening to a nearly blinding degree. He saw Vossler readying his blade, threatening Basch with a group of soldiers around him. Harry shook off the hand that had gripped his wrist. "Reducto!"

Vossler was flung to the side, knocking into a guard as he went. His party readied their weapons against him as he snarled and stumbled to his feet, sword out and hair falling around his face. "Filthy cretins! You shall not have the Princess! The future resides in her hands, and I shall not see that spoiled by sky pirates and street rats." His eyes darted to Basch, mad and desperate. "Why, old friend? Why? The struggle is futile; you must _know_ that!"

"I do know. All too well."

Both sides dashed together. The battle was a blur of colors and head sensations and the ebb and flow of magic for Harry. He relished in the rush of an _incendio_ as he lit the underclothes of a guard on fire. This was no time to feel badly for the way the scent of the man's flesh filled the air. He grounded himself firmly and threw a slashing _Sectumsempra _at a man who had discarded his helmet, leaving him gurgling as he fell to his knees. Lights and sounds and sensations and _feeling_… Harry lost himself in the daze.

It was only Balthier's hand on his elbow that pulled him back, jerking him to reality to see the guards all fallen and Vossler on his knees. Against Balthier's side was Fran, looking ill with glazed eyes.

"All I have ever done, I've ever thought of Dalmasca first. You must… you must serve her as I cannot, Basch. My time has come to a hasty end."

Balthier was urging him forward, Fran stumbling with them, past a frozen Ashe. "Princess." Balthier said pointedly. "We must be swift."

She glanced his way briefly but her eyes were drawn back as Basch raised his blade. "I would ne'er gainsay your loyalty, my friend. Rest well, and know Dalmasca will once more have her time."

Harry turned away before Basch brought down his blade and fled alongside his companions in the blur of all things.

* * *

Harry collapsed in the shade of Rabanastre's wall, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The sky turned to streaks of orange and pink as the sun fell, bringing with it a faint breeze that did wonders to cool him down. He wondered if Cure would take care of a sunburn, as he was rather sure he had managed to get one in the hours he'd been just outside of the city.

He'd needed time to himself. He could admit that. Other than those few moments weeks ago in the Strahl, he hadn't yet had time just to… be. Every night he camped or roomed with at least a few members of their little group, and every day they traveled or planned outings to gather money and resources. They had been free of the Leviathan for nearly two weeks and Ashe was becoming antsy in their lack of action.

A day in the desert testing his magic had been a reprieve. Penelo had managed to convince Vaan to shop with her, Basch and Ashe were following a lead in the East End, and Fran and Balthier disappeared so often that he hardly saw them during the day in any case. With everyone blissfully busy, Harry had had time to finally test the reaches of his magic as it was now, explore the boundaries of his abilities since the Leviathan.

Things were not completely back to normal, but he was still in awe of the difference. After years without any magic at all, then the last months with the malfunctioning, stunted thing he had come to live with, having a semblance of his ability back was like a gasping breath of air after long minutes without. The world still felt brighter, the air more clean, his senses heightened. He felt _alive_ again.

His memories of the Leviathan were patchy at best. He had hardly been able to make it to the ship they used to escape before collapsing, screaming in pain as the _draining_ sensation returned to a degree of frightening proportions. Fran had explained that the recently spent shard had reached out for all the magic it could obtain. They had only just escaped the blast, and his torment had subsided with distance. Not that he remembered, but Fran and Penelo had recounted for him.

A little cactus monster – a Cactite, Vaan had informed him – toddled by him, lazy and swaying in the fading light. Harry fingered his wand but didn't attack it. There were already bits of monsters all around from his day of stretching his magic. He had cast everything from a tickling jinx to a killing curse that day, just to see the extent of his abilities.

The Killing Curse, unsurprisingly, hadn't worked. He hadn't really thought it would. It was nothing about his stunted magic that made him think so, but the prerequisites for the spell itself. He simply didn't have it in him to kill instantly without a fight, even a monster. And without the will, need, want, and _drive_ for death, the Killing Curse would never produce more than the faintest green fizzle from his wand.

His Cruciatus, however, worked well. He wondered if he should feel badly for this. It was Dark magic and the thought alone made him slightly queasy… but who would know? In this land with people who regularly sliced and shot their competition, it was not the taboo that it was in the Wizarding world to use painful or lethal force.

His musing came to an abrupt end as a wolf made its way over the dunes of the Estersand towards him, snarling. Harry snapped up his wand. "Expulso." The wolf exploded spectacularly.

"_That_ is disgusting." Harry blinked as Balthier's voice called his attention, just a yard from the scattered bits of wolf.

"But effective, right?"

"That it is. You've gotten more proficient with your stick."

Harry grimaced. "It isn't a _stick_, it is my—"

"Wand, yes, I know. You've only repeated yourself a plethora of times."

The man dropped beside him and Harry glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "Why did you come looking for me?"

Balthier gave something between a smirk and a smile. "Without having someone to exercise my wit upon, I begin to feel rather ill at ease."

"Ah, is that all?"

His brown eyes were amber in the failing light. He hummed, lifting one knee to rest his arm across. "Perhaps not. But it was little more than a whim, really… a need to see your lovely face, perhaps?"

Harry refused to admit to blushing, ignoring the teasing comment for what it was. "Then there is nothing urgent?"

"No." Balthier's voice was oddly serious, which made Harry turn back to examine his profile. "Nothing urgent. A wish for tranquility, perhaps. I find it a rare thing, but when you are near…" he shook his head, smiling in something of a self-degrading way. "It is easier."

Harry did blush now, flattered by the uncommon honest compliment, and leaned back against the wall. They watched the sun dip below the horizon together, silent.

* * *

The Sandsea – the pub, that is, not the location – was boisterous that night. Harry sat with Fran and watched the activities below, the more inebriated denizens singing a bawdy song near the bar. His companion occasionally made little huffs of amusement or disapproval, but more often they sat in silence and observed.

Balthier slipped seamlessly in and out of the crowds, charm on full force. The man _oozed_ it. He lingered with his fingers on the small of a lovely brunette's back, he stood proud as he recited some manufactured tale or another, he smirked with mystery when someone got too close. He fluidly moved between actions and moods depending on his audience: a true showman.

"It is his nature, nothing more."

Fran repeated the same phrase from their first night in Rabanastre, and Harry smiled into red eyes. "Oh, I know." He looked back to Balthier. "He is in his element. 'Leading man' and all, right?"

She huffed a breathy laugh. "You have come to understand our Balthier."

He didn't react to her use of "our" to describe the man, but wondered at it nonetheless. "I suppose I have. It's been months, after all."

"And he is fond of you. He trusts few with all that he presents to you."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her. "All of what? He just dances around me as he does everyone else."

Her smile was sharp in return. "Believe what you will believe, but my ears hear that which is not said as clearly as that which is." She leveled a long nail in his direction as she pointed. "You will come to see what lies beneath. You are not one to stay willfully blind."

He might have taken offense and questioned her further, but the scraping of chairs tore his attention away. Ashe and Basch joined their table, troubled casts to their face.

"Any news?" Harry asked warily.

Basch's lips tightened and Ashe leaned forward, resting her chin on propped hands. "None that will aid us. No soul in this city has information we need and I know not how to continue."

"What are you looking for?" He stared at her, shaking his head. "You can't find an answer without a question, right? Are you looking for secrets? Ways to take back the city?"

She shifted, cutting her eyes away. "The nethicite. It has become increasingly clear that the Dawn Shard is the one weapon we have against the Empire. They already have such power – the Midlight Shard, the Dusk Shard…"

Harry groaned. "This is ridiculous. A rock? You want to use a rock to win this war?"

Basch's narrowed eyes pinned Harry to place. "The princess is doing what must be done for Rabanastre. For Dalmasca."

"So you agree with stooping to the levels of the enemy to win?"

Ashe's tone was unusually hard, jaded. "It is war. I will do whatever it takes to secure the well being of my people."

"So the destruction that rock can cause is negligent so long as the ends justify its use?"

"I will not explain myself to you!" she hissed, slamming her palms down. "You have no idea what it is to have the fate of many upon your shoulders. You cannot possibly understand my plight."

"You don't know me, Ashe," he said in low tones, jaw tight as he swallowed to calm himself. "In fact I know _exactly_ what you're doing here and I have been in your shoes. Different situations, yes, but I know what it is to have an entire people's fates resting on my actions. What do you truly know of war? Why is it up to you to make the decisions, to fight the ultimate evil? Why are the people not willing to fight for themselves?" He gave a parody of a smile at the blank stare she gave him. "The things I would do were dictated before I was even born… as, I suppose, were yours by your lineage. Don't you dare speak to me of responsibility and struggle."

He felt hands on his back running soothing lines over his shoulder blades, and against his will he relaxed, eyes falling shut in defeat. He sunk back into Balthier's insistent pressing, wondering how long he had been listening, and then peered over at Ashe morosely. "Don't lose yourself to this, Ashe. Your morals are what will make you a good leader. Don't let revenge get in your way."

She looked away, but Basch's gaze was heavy on him. Harry batted Balthier's fingers from there they had begun threading through his hair, letting the man rest them on his shoulders. He met Basch's eyes.

"What would you have us do, then?" Basch's eyes were battle-worn, weary. "Without the nethicite, I fear us powerless in the Empire's path."

"I don't know enough about your world to answer that. But I know that there is _always _another option. In my world…" Harry sighed, staring down at his hands. "I was meant to kill the man who sought control in my world, the one who killed my parents. I was 'prophesized' to be his end, so an entire world looked to me to do it. But I didn't want to kill anyone, not even him."

He opened his eyes, flicking them between Fran, Ashe, and Basch, feeling Balthier's fingers tighten on his shoulders. "In the end, he died… not because I killed him, but because I was willing to die. I stood in front of him and let him kill me. And when I didn't really die, I stood before him again and when he tried _again_ to kill me? The spell rebounded, killing him instead. It was dumb luck that I won, so I guess that I'm no one to give advice."

"So you wish me to be a martyr?" Ashe said quietly, not challenging or mocking. "Do you think that could win this war?"

"Merlin, no." Harry waved a hand. "It wouldn't help. No one thinks you're alive to begin with, and even if they did… no. It wouldn't help anything. All I meant was that there are other options. What about alliances? Information and the _appearance_ of strength go farther to win any war than an object, even one as powerful as the stone."

"But have things not already escalated beyond diplomacy?" Basch said. "We stand on a precipice. Vayne instigates war from the shadows, the Resistance lays poised to strike. The Empire will not stay complacent for long. If Dalmasca is to survive the coming battle, Lady Ashe _must _be restored."

"And just how do we accomplish that?" Balthier spoke for the first time, lifting his hands from Harry's shoulders and leaning now against the back of his chair. Harry tilted his head back to look at the underside of the man's chin. "Is that not the real question we must ask? Who would have the power to grant her Majesty her throne once more?"

"The Gran Kiltias," Ashe seemed awed as she spoke, standing to her feet. "Of course! Why did I not think of him before? He and his predecessors have sworn in Kings since before Raithwall's time."

"The Dreamer lies far to the south and east, across the plains and through the Wood. It will not be a simple journey." Fran looked unconcerned, eyes still on the bar's denizens below.

"But it is a necessary journey. I will not let difficulty stay my hand. I will see the Gran Kiltias and I will have my throne restored. Perhaps he can answer my questions of the nethicite's power as well."

Harry fought the urge to groan, instead closing his eyes with frustration coloring his expression. He should have known it would not be so simple to deter her. But he hoped that he would be able to before she actually used the thing… he could only see bad coming from it.

"We will inform the young ones come morning," Basch said, pulling Harry back to the conversation. "And we will prepare for the journey."

Harry tuned out any further conversation, excusing himself and making for the room in the pub that they had been staying in. He made lists in his head of the things that he needed to purchase if they were going to be going on another trek like they had across the Sandseas.

* * *

"_Death. Death to the unclean, death to those who dare disturb our rest. Death to the interlopers."_

Harry jerked to a halt, staring at the long plains stretching ahead. It was nearing sunset as they continued their journey across the Ozmone Plains, and it had been a mundane walk until then, at least since they'd left the dreary rains of Giza.

"Is something wrong, Harry?" Penelo chirped from behind him, hand bracing his shoulder. "You just stopped all of a sudden."

"_Filthy interlopers, foul are those who trespass. Can you feel them stomping on our sacred grounds? Strike them, brothers, infect their worthless hides!"_

Harry couldn't understand why the others hadn't stopped. "Hey!"

They turned, most giving him arch looks. "Is there a problem?" said Ashe, her sword loose at her side. "We must make haste."

"_There, there! Death to the unclean!"_

"Don't you hear that?" He shouted, running up ahead of their party and pointing towards the shallow canyon.

The odd looks he received were clear moments later when a snake sprung from the ground; the wide hood resembled a cobra, but it was only a ring, the head arcing down from the top. He'd never seen a snake so odd in his life, and he'd seen Ashwinders and other magical snakes.

"_The unclean ones shall fall to my fangs!"_

"_Not likely," _said Harry, pulling out his wand. _"Back off."_

"What the hell?" Vaan's voice was a yelp.

"_Filthy trespasser! How dare you speak the language of the Old Ones? No right, no right have you!"_

"_There are many beasts on these plains, but you're only complaining about us? We are only crossing through."_

"_You may not pass! The unclean have no rights here, and you shall fall by my fangs!"_ The snake darted forward, intent on sinking his teeth into Harry, but he threw up a _Protego_ just in time.

Harry glanced back at his party. "Guys?"

They slowly came out of their stupor, attacking the four snakes that had risen. Harry fired off an _Incendio_ at the face of the snake that had called the others. It hissed in rage and pain, shaking its ringed head violently from side to side.

"_These lands are sacred. You come here with your heavy footfalls and your garbled tongue, destroying our nests and slaying our young. _Leave_ this place!"_

A _diffindo_ sent at one of the two sides of the looping head dropped the snake instantly, black blood spurting from the section of hide that had been entirely severed. To his left he saw an arrow from Fran's bow pierce the skull of another, and Vaan's victorious cheer from behind him gave him the assurance he needed to know that at least three of four were dead. Turning verified this, leaving only one snake remaining, cowering back just inside the lip of a small canyon. It hissed when Vaan began warily approaching it.

Harry turned away as Vaan leapt, trying to block out the sounds of the snake's threats and hissed screams. Turning, however, left him facing the rest of the party, and the wary looks of perturbment made him sigh.

"That…" Penelo paused and chewed her lower lip. "Umm, how did you do that?"

He raked a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends. "That's a bit of a long story." Somehow, he thought 'Oh, some rotten sod tried to kill me as a baby and ended up transferring a bit of his soul into me, and since he could talk to snakes I can too,' wouldn't really work.

"We have all night," Basch said. "However, do know that we shall not force you to speak of anything. Your business is your own, it is only our curiosity that is piqued."

Harry didn't know how true that was or wasn't, but he didn't argue. A bit of him lightened enough to meet the eyes of his friends, seeing only traces of the wariness he expected. Well, that was better than when the Wizarding world had found out, though he could only peg that to a lack of ingrained prejudice. "All right. How about we set camp? I'll tell you all a story."

Penelo looked _pleased_ at this, nodding happily and dragging Vaan with her to gather firewood from the brushy trees nearby. Fran and Balthier, as usual, simply shrugged in acquiescence; he found himself surprised to realize that he hadn't expected the two of them to judge him. He… trusted them, he supposed. Trusted that they would not jump to conclusions or fear him. They were both such amenable sorts, taking whatever life threw in stride.

Once the fire was blazing and food – snake meat, which was a fact Harry was trying to overlook – was cooking over it, Harry settled comfortably. "This will be long winded, because without backstory there is no way you will be satisfied with my answer."

"It is all right, Harry," Ashe said, her tones even. "Tell what you will, how you will, when you will." He was surprised by the honesty in her voice and the small smile on her lips.

"It's difficult to explain since you all know very little of my world. It isn't… _anything _like this one, but I suppose some things are true no matter what civilization you're in." He was rambling, so he stopped and took a deep breath. "In my world, like in this one, the most prevalent people are humes… or, as we call ourselves there, humans. But in my world, there aren't any monsters. There are animals that are dangerous, but usually not near civilization, and there are magical creatures… but I'm getting ahead of myself."

"No monsters?" Vaan said in an incredulous tone, flailing a bit from his perch on a rock. "What did you fight, then?"

"In my country, people mostly stopped using swords and things like that centuries ago, and there's very little need for anyone to know how to hunt unless they do it for sport, or fight unless the fighting is against other humans. We have guns… but they aren't like the guns here. They're more powerful, more deadly, and they're used for crimes and against other humans in wars.

"My parents were killed when I was a baby, and I was sent to stay with some relatives of my mother. They…" Harry trailed off and frowned, "were less than fond of me. But that's another story. It wasn't until I was eleven that I knew _why_ they never had been. You see, I grew up in a world without magic. Not my own and not anything like yours. No one had it. Magic was a myth, something for legends and fairy tales. But when I was eleven, a man came to my relatives' house and told me that it was _real_, that my parents had been magical, and that I was, too. A wizard, he said, and I was to attend a school for others like me - children who could do magic. A whole secret world of magic users was out there, and I was to be a part of it."

He found his eyes drifting back to the fire, fingers sifting through the loose dirt under his hands. "At the time, I was just fascinated… awe-struck. Magic was real and I could do it. But I learned a lot about the magical world in the years after. I learned that there had been a war before I was born between different sects in the Wizarding world. There was a man that the populace feared to even speak the name of, a man who believed that wizards were superior to people who could not do magic and had no idea that magic even existed. He raised an army, killing indiscriminately, and targeted those who dared to oppose them."

"When my mum was pregnant with me, someone made a prophecy that a child would be born who would be the end of the evil man. He didn't take that well. He never knew the entirety of the prophecy, just that a child would be born at a certain time, and that child would have the power to rid the world of him. There were a few complications, but in the end a traitor sold my parents to him, and when I was only a year old, he came to my parents' house. He killed them both, and then he tried to kill me."

Harry raised his eyes and saw the rather pitying looks on several faces, his gaze hardening. "But he didn't know the whole prophecy. If he had, things would have been different. But one of the lines was '_and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal'_, and when he tried to kill me his spell backfired, tearing his soul from his body. There's a lot more to that, he wasn't actually dead and came back much later, but that would take too long to tell.

"The end of the story is, though, that when he hit me with a spell that is supposed to instantly kill a person, he actually transferred-" Harry paused and reworded the truth carefully, his hand brushing back his fringe and tracing his scar, "a bit of his power into me. One of his powers was the ability to talk to snakes, which is why I have that ability. It's come in handy a few times over the years, so I don't really mind as much as I used to. It wasn't a common ability even in the Wizarding world, with myself and the man who tried to kill me being the only ones alive who could do it."

"So, if the bad guy wasn't dead, how did he come back?"

Harry couldn't help but smile at the wide-eyed Penelo, who was crouched rather precariously on the balls of her feet and leaning forward intently.

"Maybe I'll continue the story another night, all right? For now, though, I really think we'd better rest if we want to get through Golmore Jungle in one day. Fran says it is no place to make camp."

Said Viera shook her head in slow strokes. "The Wood seethes with beasts and danger. Many things have made homes amongst the shadows."

Harry smiled at his friends, tired and weary as they gave tight smiles back. They settled down to sleep.

* * *

"So… what do snakes say?"

Harry chuckled at Vaan as they approached the jungle's entrance the next morning. "A lot of things. Most I've encountered were rather… angry, though. But there was a garden snake that I talked to a lot when I was fifteen; it mainly told me about scents it could taste and how completely nonsensical humans were."

Vaan grinned and lifted his arms, crossing them behind his head. "The more I think about it, the more great I think it is. It's like… like having a secret code! I mean, you could hold whole conversations without anyone else understanding what you were saying!"

"That would require the other person to understand the language as well," Harry said dryly. "Considering that the only other person I knew who could was my parents' murderer, I never really got to hold secret conversations."

The boy looked uncomfortable for a moment, obviously regretting what he said. "Umm, sorry Harry—"

"Don't worry about it, Vaan. It was a long time ago and I've had a lot of time to think about things. And being in a whole different world means I'm not reminded every five minutes, so that helps."

"Do you miss your home?" Penelo asked, joining him on his other side. She twisted one of her braids around a finger, frowning with such honest concern at Harry. "I mean, I don't even know if you ran away or what, but to be so far from everyone and everything you know…"

"I do," he said. "I think I miss the people more than the place, though. With all the things I was expected to do and ended up doing, I couldn't really do anything without people either going out of their way to be nice to me or going out of their way to twist things into me being evil. Reporters followed me everywhere and every time someone approached me I had to guess whether it was because I was _Harry Potter_ or whether it was just because I was me."

"So you were famous, then?" Vaan said, curious and whirling to walk backwards in front of Harry. "That had to be cool sometimes."

He smiled. "It was sometimes, but usually it was just… tiring."

"What about the people?" Penelo asked, jumping a little to hop over a rock.

"I miss the people I loved for sure. My best friends especially. Ron and Hermione were the first real friends I'd ever had when we met when I was a kid… and we were together through everything. I also miss my… well, my ex-girlfriend, I guess. We broke up because of the war, but I had always supposed we would get back together."

"You had a girlfriend?" Penelo's smile was wide and bright. "What was she like?"

"Sharp. Very quick and witty, very easygoing. She was lovely and fiery and I think I might have loved her if I'd had the chance."

Penelo cooed in a happiness only a teenage girl could feel while Vaan looked uncomfortable.

He smiled a bit morosely. "But they're gone, and at least for now I have no way of getting back to them. So I'll make do with my circumstances as they are. Besides…" he blushed a bit and looked forward, past Fran's swaying ponytail and into the looming shadows of the Jungle they had now reached. "I'm finding things to love right here, I think."

His heart felt heavy at the pronouncement, but he found it true. He was growing attached to this mismatched group, even as he felt outside of it at all times. But they were charming for all their struggles. He wondered if Ivalice would ever begin feeling like home. As he glanced up at the looming trees of Golmore Jungle and they prepared to enter, he could only doubt it.

The jungle was humid and stifling, with darkness that seemed to seep into every crevice. He could hardly see up into the canopy for all the thick greenery, and all around them was a chorus of growls and ominous sounds of _life_. Dangerous life. Strange cat-like creatures with distended heads prowled the paths, and in the distance he could hear the howling of wolves. He stuck close to the group as they fought their way through the trees.

Ashe was pale and looked slightly ill as she stepped back, sword at her side, from the remnants of some kind of plant monster. A spell from Fran took away the green tinge, but she still looked rather discomfited. "Let us make haste. I do not wish to tarry here."

Basch seemed to agree where he stood at Harry's side, lips pursed. "I believe we are slightly off course. We should move more Westerly at the nearest convenient passage."

They did so, ducking beneath vines that Harry swore _shivered_ as they brushed past, and Harry felt distinctly useless amongst the others as they cut down their opposition, as the oppressive feeling in the jungle made his magic fizzle and crackle, and in such close quarters he was afraid of harming someone. He watched from behind, frowning, as they moved with synergy together. Vaan and Ashe and Basch would dive in, weapons ready, while Penelo and Fran and Balthier hung back, casting spells to aid them and using their weapons from a distance. Harry even contemplated using his gun, but he thought that that might be more dangerous than his magic, even.

His thoughts were abruptly halted as they found their path impeded by a strange, glowing wall. Vaan, being Vaan, walked directly into it in an attempt to pass, only to be thrown back with a grumpy expression.

"Well, then, seems we won't be passing this way," Balthier said with a wry smirk. "Ideas, luv?"

Fran, poised as ever, closed her eyes. "The Jungle denies us our passage."

"What have we done?" Ashe said, pale countenance exacerbated by her drawn expression.

"We? No. I."

She began walking then back the way they had come, and Harry frowned as Balthier ran to catch up with her, speaking in hushed tones as she moved with purpose away from the barrier. He halted when she turned a narrowed, red gaze on him but immediately moved to catch her as she halted at a dead end. Harry moved to them.

"You've let your eyes betray your heart."

Harry perked up at the familiar comment from Fran, watching as her hand moved fluidly across the air. A magical symbol appeared where she had touched.

The group moved forward over the newly revealed path of greenery, Fran's slow steps sending her farther back into the group as the others moved ahead with wide eyes.

"This is your home, then?"

Fran glanced at him from the corner of her eye before looking forward almost immediately. "It was, once, long ago."

Eruyt village was beautiful, though it looked mostly devoured by the forest itself. Vines wound tightly around any created structures, hanging over the walkways. He stared at the walkways with a bit of concern, embarrassed to realize he didn't fancy the idea of walking over them. Harry could see the varying looks of awe from their group, from the unabashed gawking of Vaan to the mute interest of Basch. Balthier alone seemed unimpressed, instead frowning and glancing back at his partner every other moment.

"He worries."

"Does he? Over what?"

Fran slowed as they reached a gate crystal, gazing off into the jungle. "Many a thing. He is like a book, my Balthier. He cares far more than he would have most believe. In this moment, he worries for his father, for the Princess, for me. He believes this painful for me."

"And it isn't?"

She might have responded, but in that moment Vaan approached. She addressed him instead. "In the village ahead you will find her: Mjrn. Bring her to me. She will know why you call her."

The group set off, but Harry saw no reason to follow. He doubted anything would happen amongst the viera that he would be needed for.

"You stay."

"That I do," Harry said. He watched her turn to stare towards the village, a marvel of vines and archways in the distance.

They were silent for long minutes, long enough for Harry to begin to get uncomfortable. He wandered towards the gate crystal and ran his hand over the smooth surface, still fascinated that such a thing existed. On top of the odd memory storage, the red crystals provided limited Apparation to any place one had been before. Harry didn't understand how it could possibly work, but it was enthralling nonetheless.

"The Wood seethes with upset. Ivalice is in turmoil, and the Wood knows it well. If only I could hear her voice more clearly..."

Harry couldn't pretend to understand, so he didn't respond. What could he say, anyway? He had no history in this world, no understanding of more than the very rudimentary basis of world events.

She seemed to understand, as she simply turned to look at him with those piercing, wise eyes. "You search still for 'why' and 'when' and 'how', do you not? You wish to know your purpose in this place, with us. You feel isolated within the many."

Harry jolted at the truth in her words, pursing his lips as she closed her eyes and spoke. "We have the Princess: leader within, untried and jejune without. The guard who follows for loyalty's sake. The orphan on the road of revenge and his companion who follows, desperate to stay united. The vagabond, more lost than free like he would have us believe. Myself, without home or motivation. You think you are so different than us?"

"No, but I am the only one from another bloody world. I am tired of not understanding half of what anyone says, and I'm tired of being surprised by the things common to everyone else."

He heard a snort of air from her, but she didn't bother to respond. Harry wallowed. Was it really too much to ask to be given a purpose? Every possible role was filled within this group; the only vague purposes left vacant ones that Harry did not believe he could ever fulfill. Fleeing Voldemort around Britain had jaded Harry to the realities of war.

"You are tired of much, but only the unwearied can truly see the world around them."

Harry wished he'd understood a word of what she'd said.

* * *

**A/N**: With all luck, a gap like that will never happen again. Going without writing makes me feel... discombobulated. Let's see if I can finish this in the coming months, yes? Your reviews inspire me to new heights and remind me of why I keep going. I'd love to hear from you, my dearests.


	6. Skies May Fall

Disclaimer: JKR and Square own the rights to all characters contained herein.

In the Bur-Omisace scene, I reused a heavy chunk of dialog from the game, as I feel it important for the reader (in case they have not played the game or haven't in a while) to understand what comes.

* * *

**Embracing Absurdism  
**_Any moment, big or small, is a moment after all. Seize the moment; skies may fall… any moment._

* * *

Harry collapsed on the ground with a groan, trying to scrub off the remnants of oil dumped upon them by the Elder Wyrm. Its corpse had exploded into a shower of spores that were now sticking to every patch of oil that still remained, and it gave a golden sheen to the sticky patches in the creases of Harry's clothing. He stripped off his shirt with a sigh, staring at it balefully. "_Scorgify_."

"Oh, that's amazing!" Penelo said with a squeak, running up to him. "Umm, do you think you could do that to my clothes?"

He eyed her one piece jumpsuit. "Not while they're on you… it hurts something awful." She blushed in response, looking wide-eyed at their group. Harry laughed. "I'm sure that if we step aside nearby we can find somewhere you could have privacy. I'm sure the others wouldn't mind the help as well."

He saw Balthier and Basch already removing their tops, though Balthier seemed to be having a time undoing the side-clasps of his vest. Harry beckoned him over and began untangling the hidden cords as he pointed his wand at Basch's vest. Ashe joined Penelo and motioned toward a tree nearby.

"I shall accompany them and bring back their clothing," Fran said simply, following the two women.

Basch set to work on removing his shorts over his tall boots. Harry finally stood again as Balthier's vest gave way. The man stared, disgusted at the tarry splotches in the ornate patterns as he undid the small buttons at the neck and shrugged it off. The jabot of his undershirt was nearly black, his cuffs covered in blood. Harry took the vest from him as he whined and began stripping out of the shirt as well.

He ran a _Scorgify_ over the vest and spun it to treat the back as well. He frowned as the flap that hid the ties when he found more oil caked in its crevices. He glanced up to Balthier once he had succeeded in removing the majority of the grime and felt decidedly uncomfortable.

He had removed the soiled shirt now and was clucking irritably at it, fingering a long tear down on sleeve. Harry couldn't understand why he felt his face heating drastically and was suddenly unable to tear his gaze away from the long, pale expanses of skin. He noted the oddest things, like a scar that arched just over Balthier's left hip and disappeared into his low-slung trousers, or the dusting of bronze strands glinting on Balthier's chest and stomach.

It wasn't… well. Harry wasn't particularly the sort to lie to himself and he wouldn't start now. He could appreciate that Balthier was an attractive man. He had seen enough women falling over themselves for him in the cities they stopped in to know that. But he couldn't quite understand why his mouth was suddenly dry or why he had to consciously remind himself to breathe…

"I return."

Fran's voice jolted Harry back to awareness, and he spun around red-faced. Her eyes seemed knowing, which only darkened his inexplicable blush. He took the soiled garments from her wordlessly and began shifting through them, shooting repairing and cleaning spells at them. She took them back wordlessly with a tiny, sly smile, dipping her head before moving back toward where the women were.

"Harry, can you do something about this?"

Harry turned back and saw Balthier holding out his undershirt, pointing to the tear he had been lamenting earlier. Harry took the shirt with slow movements, trying and failing to stop sneaking glances at the man. He was arched up and back in a stretch, arms extended high above his head. Harry forced his eyes down to the muslin in his hands, swiping his wand across it to remove the stains before casting a careful _Reparo_ across the edges of the rip.

All of the party's clothes were still a bit worse for the wear, but when they got back to the Strahl they could replace them with the duplicated copies Harry had made with the Geminio charm. He wished the charm worked on armor as well, but since most were imbued with magic, the spell only created a worthless copy of them without the benefits.

Harry took a deep breath to clear his mind and handed the shirt to Balthier. He forced himself not to react as rough, callused fingers lingered on his hand, tried to fight down a blush as he peered up through his lashes to meet a rakish grin. His reactions were entirely nonsensical and ridiculous and he couldn't keep doing this.

Basch was struggling with the buckle in the back that attached his pauldron, and Harry took the distraction for what it was. He ducked his head and quickly darted around Basch to fasten it properly.

"Oh, this is much better," Penelo said, dancing on her toes as she circled the clearing in her newly clean clothing. She leapt over Vaan, who was still dirty and seemed not to care. He lay on his back with his hands behind his head, drowsily staring through the canopy leaves.

Ashe, running her fingers through her tangled hair, let out a quickly covered, fond smile in the younger companions' direction before clearing her throat. "I think we will find no better site to camp before we reach the Paramina Rift. The terrain will be inhospitable."

Basch looked like he disagreed and wished to move forward, but was not willing to argue with the Princess. "As you wish, your Majesty."

"She speaks truth," Fran said, fetching one of the bags from where they had dropped them before the fight. "The Wood will allow us peace here, but in the mountain foothills comes yet more danger. We should rest and be ready."

The two youngest members of their party dashed off to find at least somewhat dry wood for a fire, while Balthier and Fran set out with their ranged weapons to find meat for dinner. Harry plucked the tents from where Ashe was reorganizing their supplies and found the most even ground to clear of obstacles.

Basch was soon at his side, smiling faintly as he heaved a branch into the underbrush. "It seems that each day I find new aspects of your magic to fascinate me. Its spectrum of use is broad."

Harry hummed as he swished his wand up, sending leaves careening away from the mossy patch of earth. "It really is. Magic can harm and heal, break and repair, give and take. But that's why it is dangerous. It is too easy to get dependant on its ability to do, well, everything."

"I note that your own competence is increasing ever more as we journey. You find control with every casting."

He smiled and the compliment, tipping his head to the blond. "Thank you. I had missed my magic all those years in-" he paused and grimaced, glancing away from Basch. The man gave a soft chuckle in response.

"Those times lie behind us. A new dawn approaches us, and we cannot risk looking back on days gone by. Do not dwell, Harry." He clasped his shoulder and Harry smiled up at him, a bit weak in the knees as the older man walked away.

Don't dwell, hmm?

Visions of Hogwarts and his friends haunted him. But he found himself comparing the others to them less and less. He had been in Ivalice for years now, and in the company of these people for months. They were his daily companions. He ate with them, slept amongst them, fought beside them. They shared jokes, strife, and pain. It was… something of a family forged from hardship, even more tightly knit than he had been with his friends at Hogwarts. Back home, the lives of himself and his friends were separate but bound.

Here, they were twined inextricably. Every choice, every breath was for those around them… and they grew closer with every moment. It would make or break them all in the end.

Fingers skimmed his still bare lower back as he flicked a lazy _Erecto_ at a tent, making him stiffen and shiver. He glared over his shoulder at an unrepentant Balthier as he forced another tent to dance into place and root itself.

"You wound me, Harry, to turn such vicious eyes on me. Those lovely jades should not hold such malice."

"Then you should keep your fingers to yourself."

Balthier pressed a hand to his chest, still only clothed in the billowy, ruffled undershirt. "Come now, luv, do I repulse you so?"

Harry ignored the heating of his cheeks and threw a stinging hex at Balthier's shoulder, making the man yelp without dignity. Harry laughed.

"What in the hell was that?"

"Stinging hex. Stimulates nerve impulses in a small area for a split second."

He rubbed the spot where the spell had hit and gave Harry a mock glare, planting his other hand on his hip. "Show off."

"Isn't that my line?"

Harry erected the last of the three tents with a flourish and began taking out the worn blankets they carried. Golomore Jungle was cooler here close to the mountains; he wished they could have packed more blankets, but they simply hadn't had the money to replace them. As he filled one tent with what he could, he frowned at the bits and edges that were getting more and more threadbare. Magic could not restore that. He transfigured a few leaves into coarse, ugly patches that were the extent of his finesse and used a sticking charm to attach them over the barest segments. He began to think of things he could conjure that would gain them more money when they next had a merchant to barter with.

He turned back to find Balthier sprawled beside a mocked up firepit, still bereft of wood and flame but ready once Vaan and Penelo returned. Fran sat nearby skinning two rabbit-creatures and another furry… something. She was quiet in a pensive way, face upturned and ears flicking towards any birdsong or scurrying in the trees. Balthier glanced at her with pursed lips before shaking his head and turning back.

Harry swirled his wand to scoop out a bit more dirt from the pit, vanishing it once he had it piled.

"Will you continue your tale tonight?"

Harry gave an inquiring lift of one eyebrow. "My tale?"

"In the Plains, you began your story. You promised the young ones you would tell us more."

He laughed a bit self-deprecatingly. "My life is a tragedy… who really wants to hear a story like that?"

"I would."

Harry met Balthier's eyes, the fond, serious tone in his friend's voice startling him. His expression seemed to ask his question for him.

"You are my enigma, Harry," he said, long fingers fluttering out in a wide sweep. "Your past, your world, your thoughts… they consume me. With every tidbit I learn, the need to know more only flourishes. Whatever you will give me I will take, greedily."

His breathing was shallow at the sharp, heavy look Balthier leveled on him with his words. He felt there was so much more to this, so much he was missing or refusing. It frightened him, and he wished he could look away. But he could not, he could only force the breaths in and out of his lungs as Balthier smiled, true and rare, genuine.

"However, you hide much and feed only scraps. But I am a patient man when the need is great. I will wait until you are ready to divulge the secrets you keep, the whispers of your being. You tempt me unlike any treasure I have ever sought to uncover… but I believe the rewards will be far greater."

Harry was lightheaded, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Balthier had risen to his feet and approached him, his long fingers teasing the fine hairs on his bare arm, not touching but close enough to make him shiver. Balthier's focus was difficult to be under, with his piercing eyes and easy grace.

Harry sucked in a breath as the fingers trailed up his shoulder to his jaw. He had to consciously force his eyes to not flutter closed as those fingertips pressed, just barely, to touch his skin rather than hover above.

A startled "oomph," a dull clattering, and some irritable cursing broke the trance, and Harry took three long strides away from Balthier's intent scrutiny. Harry forced his erratic heartbeat to slow and ripped his eyes away from the man, looking instead to where Vaan had tripped over a branch – Harry thought it might have been one he had flung away while clearing the site – and lost his armload of wood.

The boy scowled around him at the offending wood and then back down at the log that had hindered him. Harry let out a strained laugh and levitated the wood to the firepit. Vaan yelped and then cheered, gazing around him and grinning broadly. "That is _so cool_. I want to make things fly."

Harry smiled more truly now to banish the remnants of his own panicking trepidation, very firmly pushing away and ignoring any unsure thoughts. He flicked his wand and intoned, _"Wingardium Leviosa_."

Vaan jerked off the ground and squealed in fright, at once appearing to want to scramble away and being too afraid to move. Harry arched his wand to the left in a smooth, slow line and laughed as Vaan squeaked and made to grab onto thin air. "Put me down! I'm _not_ supposed to fly!"

Ashe and Basch walked into the campsite then, catching the scene as Harry gave his wand a little jerk upwards to make Vaan gibber in a fusion of fright and fascination. Ashe let out a laugh that seemed to surprise her as much as it did everyone else, as a dark pink blush stained her cheeks soon after. Basch smiled to her and then to Vaan.

Soon after they settled around the firepit, Fran at Harry's side a she explained the ways her people prepared the Mu on a spit. It looked like a rabbit to Harry, though that didn't help him with preparation. He helped apply the rub of crushed herbs to it and skewered it under her direction, taking both the cuts of meat to the fire to allow them to cook.

"Are you gonna tell us more about your life, Harry?" Vaan was eyeing the meat with lust, but met Harry's eyes when he turned to him. "We're going to have to wait awhile for the Mu to be ready."

He resisted the urge to cut his eyes to Balthier, knowing his cheeks were tinting red from the memory but refusing to acknowledge it as he smiled to Vaan and an excited Penelo, rocking on the balls of her feet. "Sure. Let's see… the easiest place to start might be in my first year at Hogwarts – that's my school's name, stop making that face. I had only just found out I was a wizard and everything was so _different_…"

* * *

Harry shivered as a chill wind bit through them, drawing his thick cloak around his shoulders. He had transfigured them each a woolen cloak to wear once the snow had begun to dust the edges of the path, and though they were truly ugly things with crooked seams, they kept the edge off the bitter cold. Sometimes, he wished he had worried less about Quidditch and worried more about actually learning Transfiguration and Charms. At the time, with his life expectancy short and Voldemort on his tail, household spells hadn't seemed all that important.

Thoughts of Ginny, promising she'd take care of him while teaching him how to do so himself, flitted across his mind. It was the first he had thought of her in weeks, and that realization hurt less than it likely should have.

He watched Fran, still all expanses of dark skin and black metal, as she maneuvered over the uneven ground. She was the only one to refuse a cloak, saying that it would only hinder her and reminding him that Vieras' bodies handled temperature differently than Humes' did. She glided through the light snow and the flakes melted the moment they touched her bare skin, though it was beginning to collect in her hair and on some of the more angular bits of metal.

"The air is heavy. A storm comes swiftly."

Basch, from where he walked beside Fran, tightened his cloak around him and motioned to the group. "Mt. Bur-Omisace's Kiltias temple is not much further. Let us hasten our steps to reach its shelter soon."

They trudged on, and Harry tried to keep an _Impervious_ above their heads to ward off the thickening snow, but was only half successful. Having no object to anchor it to was difficult, but he didn't think he was powerful enough to cast it on individual party members and maintain it. It at least slowed the snowfall, though.

Whereas Harry had disliked deserts, he decided that he _hated_ the snow.

Teeth chattering, Harry tried to jog to keep his blood flowing and his body temperature up. Though they only skirted the vicious terrain of the Paramina Rift to reach the temple, it was not an easy journey. The first time a skeleton had risen from the ground at Harry's feet, he had screeched like a little girl, flying to grip Basch's arm as he cringed away. Vaan had promptly had to halt the entire group as he laughed himself silly at Harry's expense.

Now they were walking up a steep slope of fresh powder, sinking in to the thigh. Harry felt himself lagging behind. Snowy Scottish winters had been nothing like this, though he supposed the aid of warming charms had helped him there. But even when it had been snowy on a Hogsmeade weekend, it usually hadn't gone lower than negative five Celsius. He didn't know how cold it currently was, but the speed at which his extremities were going numb made him believe it was much, much colder than that. He was high in the mountains in an area that likely never thawed.

He spared the energy to send a glare at Vaan's back. The boy was a child of the desert – how could he even _move_ in his minimal clothing? He should have stepped into the Rift and immediately keeled over from climate shock!

Eventually the snow petered out, though his eyes stayed on the dark, angry storm clouds on the horizon. The snowy wasteland transformed into a more literal wasteland, cool and crisp but dead, with brown scrubby plants and dust that swirled around every footstep. He had begun to wonder why a temple had been built in such a dead space when they rounded a bend and saw the mountain itself. A path spiraled up its steep slopes, and the landscape transformed into a lush green as it meandered. It was an oasis in comparison to its surroundings, a splash of life, color, and hope.

It was also _very tall_.

"We have to _climb _that?" Harry stared dejectedly at the winding, craggy path up the mountain. In the distance, nestled at the base, he could see a collection of tent-shops and people milling about.

"It won't be so bad!" Penelo was ever-cheerful, hands on her hips with her shoulders thrown back. "Look at how pretty it is, and think of the view as we go up!"

"Waste and tundra make poor viewscapes," Basch said dryly, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Come, young mage. We will make camp beneath the mountain's eaves before ascending."

They had only been journeying for eight hours, much less than their usual dawn to dusk, but the harsh climate of the Paramina Rift had worn them through. He felt lucky they had been able to skirt the northern edge of the snowy gorge; he had heard travelers speaking of snowdrifts taller than they were and monsters that could traverse the ice-covered lakes with ease.

"Why are we doing this again?" Harry grumbled, tightening his cloak around him as the mountain grew closer.

He hadn't expected an answer, but wasn't surprised to hear Ashe's tight voice answer him. "I realize you have no stock in this world, nor much education in its ways, but the rights of succession and precedence are integral to our society. One must prove their lineage to take any throne, and in my circumstances…"

"Like being dead for two years?" Vaan's comment earned him glares and sighs from the group, and he shrugged. "It's true though, isn't it?"

He was ignored for the furtherance of the conversation. "But don't people know who you are? Why does a rock, a rock that anyone could go and pick up if they were stupid enough to go through the trials, prove who you are? Could I take the dawn shard and go to Rabanastre and say 'Hey, by the way, I'm Princess Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca!' and be believed because I had the Nethicite?"

"Of course not." The exasperation in Ashe's voice was heavy. "It reacts to those of my line."

"But what does a stone say? How can it truly _prove_ anything?"

"Tradition," Basch said after a moment, his brow furrowed. "These lands are steeped in precepts that have existed since Raithwall ruled."

Harry still didn't understand, and he was pretty sure his agitated sigh illustrated that.

"Ivalice's history is nebulous and its origins all but lost to the mire of the ages. What tradition and folklore we have, we cling to. We have nothing but the precedents handed down from our forefathers. Nethicite is important to this society, and thus the custom has lived through the ages."

Harry supposed he could kind of understand that; he came from the Wizarding world after all. He'd never much understood their need to cling to the old ways either, though, so he could only do with Ivalice what he had done with them… grit his teeth and bear it.

They made good pace to the mountain's base, and Penelo was quickly dragging both Vaan and a surprised Ashe towards the merchants. Harry made his way towards Basch where he was surveying the craggy cliffs for a moderately sheltered place to make camp. "You must forgive the Princess, Harry. Our ways may seem archaic at times to one not steeped in them as we are, but they are our ways. Princess Ashelia, most of all, thrives on our history. Tis her family that set this lore, and with all else lost she fights to keep what little she has left."

Harry could understand that much more clearly. He sighed. "I just keep thinking that there must be another way. I have seen good people killed in the name of artifacts. I knew a man once, one of the best men I ever knew, who nearly went back on everything he believed in just for items of supposed power." Harry fingered the Elder Wand bitterly. "No one is infallible or incorruptible."

Basch strode towards a relatively empty outcropping of rock and set down his share of the load of items, many of which would be sold off at the nearby merchants. Harry was glad for this, as their load of pelts and various animal… bits had become cumbersome. He would take a few of the more high-price items and duplicate them as well, just to ensure they had enough to properly equip themselves for this new climate.

The older man sighed and tugged on the ends of his hair. "You speak truth, I admit. My own home was one of the many destroyed by those enamored by nethicite. But I have faith in the Princess. Her drive is selfless and pure, and I will stop at nothing to help her achieve her goal, even if it means stopping her if she strays."

"She is lucky," Harry said with a smile. "Everyone needs someone to ground them."

"And where, precisely, is the fun in that?"

Harry heaved a sigh that made his fringe flutter. "You are very good at butting in, aren't you, Balthier?"

Rich laughter met his comment and an arm was slung over his shoulder. "If you would care to listen, I could list a great many things I am very good at, Harry. But the list is a long one, perhaps we should wait until after we have filled up on the fruits the children are procuring."

Harry shared a very non-discrete roll of the eyes with Basch, who gave him a small, amused quirk of the lips in return.

The others returned soon after, bringing with them various fresh-looking fruits and some dried meat. Harry ducked out from beneath Balthier's arm, grinning at the pout he received. He took a seat beside Fran a few feet from where Vaan was now determinedly striking a flint for a fire. She had laid down one of the thick padded blankets they used as mattresses, and now her long nails plucked apart ties on a small pouch, revealing various arrowheads within.

He watched quietly as she paired the heads with shafts, fastening fletching to the end with twine. She worked with a quick efficiency that spoke of many years doing the task, and Harry's mind went back to Eryut Village and the realization that Viera were a race with at least extended lives. She filled her quiver quickly, barely taking longer than it took for Penelo to finally get fed up with Vaan's puttering and cast a fire spell on the kindling.

He leaned closer to the inhuman warmth that Fran gave off, looking around in them in the dying light. Many fires dotted the cliffside now, with an assortment of species and races huddled around them.

"Refugees and pilgrims."

Harry hummed, taking the abrupt statement to explain the others. "Refugees of what?"

She sighed softly. "You have been exposed to little of this world's toils. These wars of man have raged for years upon years now… it is inevitable that some would grow weary. They run here in droves, destitute and bereaved, seeking solace. The priests of Kiltia provide what they can, but more and more arrive."

"What brings them here? Religion?"

"A promise of peace," a new voice piped in. "Here, surrounded by jagd, they fight to arrive and are welcomed with love, acceptance. They seek others who lost as much as they, others who have seen the horrors of war as they have. Others who might share in their suffering. They all share the dream of peace and a life without fear of battles arriving on their doorstep. So they flock here, gather in the eaves and crags of the mountain, praying for this war to end."

"Larsa?" Penelo and Vaan cried in unison, both sounding incredibly pleased as they darted for the child Lord. –

Harry cast a look back at the adults to catch the calculating (Balthier), suspicious (Ashe), and wary (Basch) looks on their faces, surveying the three teens as they greeted one another with merriment. He seconded all three looks.

The child-noble seemed kind enough, but any twelve year old that affluent was bound to raise suspicions. Perhaps it was that he could remember the things he and his friends had done at twelve, or perhaps he was just becoming bitter with age. In either case, Larsa's conveniently timed appearance at their camp beneath the mountain just seemed too well-timed to be accidental.

And he was right.

"So why're you here, Larsa? This is a long way from Archades."

Larsa had the decency to look a bit embarrassed. "I had hoped to cross paths with you all, to be candid. I felt that Lady Ashe and I had much to discuss."

"So, what? You're stalking us now?" Vaan's face contorted into a comically petulant expression.

"O-Oh, no, not at all. I really—" he paused and glanced back over his shoulder, where two grim figures stood in armor a distance from any people. Larsa sighed. "I believed you would first stop in Jahara, home to the garif, and had managed to elude my guards to arrive there, Unfortunately you did not, and they found me soon enough. This… complicates matters significantly."

He turned to look at Ashe, who had stood from her place at the fire. "My Lady, I wish to speak with you whilst I still can. I come to Mt. Bur-Omisace to meet an ally whom I believe can help me prevent this war. I wish for you to meet him as well."

"You come to us with Archadian guards standing by? Do you not fear they will inform your father that you meet with agents of the enemy?" Harry noted that Basch's hand was near the pommel of his sword, though he managed to look relaxed as he watched the young Lord.

Larsa gave Basch a warm smile in return. "Ah, their commanding officer would never let that happen; he is loyal to only me. And moreover, I fear for myself little. I fear most for my people and the state of our world. Peace is a more worthy goal than keeping my ideals hidden. I would prevent the coming war if it meant my own demise, though I believe I can do much more good alive in this fight."

Vaan plopped down with a sigh, earning a glare from Ashe. "Do you really think war is coming?"

"Do you really think it is not?"

"There's been too much war already." Penelo looked to be on the verge of tears, fingers twisting around themselves. "Can't your brother just leave us alone?"

"If only it were so simple. Things have escalated beyond Vayne's influence, beyond that of my father as well. These lands hover on a precipice over a yawning chasm… and only we work to build a bridge across into hitherto unknown lands. Peace, diplomacy, security: these words stand bitter on my tongue. They should not sound foreign."

"War and peace are sisters, fingers entwined and never far from the other," Fran said drolly, calling the group's attention to where she and Harry sat. "There is balance in this."

"Then where is the peace?" Larsa looked more impassioned than Harry had ever witnessed a child being, his hands sweeping grandly before him. "Tis not only Archadia I fear for, but for Rozarria and Dalmasca as well. War has rent these lands asunder, and it corrupts every soul within our countries. There should be no poverty, no strife and struggle. This is not what rulers should impose upon their people!"

"Idealistic, aren't you?" Basch's tone was hard, but his eyes were sympathetic. "These utopian dreams are nothing to look down upon, but I do not know if you are tempering them with reality. They are beautiful dreams, yes, but dreams nonetheless."

Larsa's face contorted briefly into sadness before he sighed, shoulders sagging. "You're right, of course. Nothing is ever quite so perfect as that, and I will only be disappointed if I expect the end result to resemble it. But that will not stop me from striving for it. My father will see reason; I know he is a good man at heart."

Balthier sighed, having stayed strangely silent through the conversation, and stretched out his arms. "You are all optimists. No matter. I believe sleep beckons."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the slight tension in Balthier's frame, the barely perceptible edge to his words as he rose and dusted his breeches. When he turned to face Harry and Fran, his expression softened and he smirked. "Shove over, one of you. I need my beauty sleep."

Harry met Fran's eyes and shrugged, scooting closer to her to give Balthier space on the blanket, quickly pulling out the Elder Wand to flick a few leaves up into his hands and transfigure them into slightly lumpy pillows. He handed them over to Fran to lay them down, and he quickly cast a _Gemino_ on the pile of blankets Penelo had unpacked, duplicating them. It was a brisk night, and they would use the tent canvas as another layer of covering over them.

The rest of the party followed suit in making their beds for the night, Larsa tentatively joining them after some cajoling from Vaan. Harry let Balthier fuss with their blankets, commandeering the thickest and least threadbare for himself, trying not to blush as he was sandwiched firmly between Balthier and Fran. He could feel them breathing as the group quieted with rest, and he smiled up at the stars.

* * *

When they finally crested the final rise and the temple came into view, Vaan promptly – and dramatically) flopped down on an unoccupied piece of cliffside, complaining loudly that he refused to walk another step without a chance to rest. The others made halfhearted arguments, but even Ashe seemed content to take a moment to breathe and recuperate after an entire morning of scaling the mountain.

Harry looked down over the landscape, across the wastes of their surroundings and beyond the snow of the Paramina Rift to the green, full canopy of the jungle barely visible over the mountains. He nearly looked away before pausing, lips pursed. It looked… off. The edges of the different biomes were harshly lined, like pieces of unlike puzzles jammed together: arid jungle beside frozen wasteland beside barren desolation.

A wind swirled around him and tore his attention away from the landscape and to the strands of Fran's long, white hair that had tickled his arm. "Oh, I was zoning out, wasn't I?"

She raised an eyebrow at the colloquialism but looked away, out towards the mismatched view. "In the Wood, legend tells that Ivalice was once much altered from what we see. A great cataclysm is spoken of that tore the world to shreds, placed East in West and North in South, placed desert with tundra and jungle with plains."

"So that is why it looks like some kind of mismatched puzzle mashed together, hmm?"

She didn't answer or respond to what, in hindsight, was probably nonsensical to her, but instead closed her eyes and let the wind tease her hair. "The winds are shifting. Great change comes swiftly."

"You are exceptionally vague sometimes, luv."

She glanced back over her shoulder to where Balthier stood and turned up her nose. "It is no fault of mine if you cannot understand."

Ashe interrupted before the pouting could become a comeback, her fingers combing through tangles in her hair as she addressed them. "The temple tis not far now. With luck, this will end our journey." She looked down, her hands dropping to her sides. "Thank you all for accompanying me through this perilous trek. I do not think I could have done it without you all."

Harry saw something vulnerable in her then and smiled, bowing his head to her. He did not believe this would be the end, no, but that she had taken this moment to acknowledge her weaknesses, in fact, made her stronger to him.

He thought that, after all, she might make a good Queen.

They gathered then, Vaan and Penelo having manhandled Larsa into walking between them with linked arms, and Harry found himself between Fran and Balthier once more, taking up the rear of the group. Harry's eyes scanned from the floating isles and chunks of land to the bridges that spanned crevasses here at the mountain's apex, as they wearily trekked past them.

The temple itself seemed to grow out of the rock, and as they neared the humongous doors, it loomed overhead.

The hall was utterly silent but for their footsteps and the sound of trickling water, and it felt something like sacrilege to disturb the peace. A species of some kind of feline garbed as monks prayed at the entry, and a man with a cragged, ancient face stood at the end of the walkway, eyes closed to the world and utterly still.

They all gathered around the figure, whose lined face did not even twitch. Harry tried not to shift or fidget. Vaan, possessing the self-control of a sixteen year old, whispered to Penelo in the yawning silence. "Is he sleeping?"

"No, my child. I do not sleep. I dream." They all jumped in unison, the voice emanating from their minds rather than from the figure himself. Harry felt a flutter in his mind akin to Legilimency and it made him uncomfortable. "For reality and illusion are a duality, two parts of a whole. Only the mirror of dreams reflects what is true."

Ashe stepped forward, fingers clasped before her. "Anastasis, Your Grace, I am Ashelia–"

"Lay down your words. Ashelia, daughter of Raminas, I have dreamt your dream. Who better to carry on the Dalmascan line than she who bears the Dawn Shard? Your dream of a kingdom restored is known to me."

"Gran Kiltias, then give us your blessing. Grant the Lady Ashe her accession—" Larsa said, stepping to Ashe's side.

There was a sound of footsteps behind them, and Harry and Basch both turned, hands on their weapons. The small group of people was led by a man even more flamboyantly dressed than Balthier in a deeply v-necked top with large, flowing sleeves. He walked with purpose through their party. "I do not suppose this is something you might... reconsider?" He stopped before Larsa with a smile. "My little emperor-in-waiting. You called and I have come."

The man patted Larsa's head in a way that made the young Lord flush and wrinkle his nose. "This is the man I wanted you to meet. Believe it or not, he is a member of the noble House Margrace, rulers of the Rozarrian Empire."

"I am but one of very, very many. Try as I might, I could not stop this war alone... thus I came seeking Larsa's assistance." He took off his sunglasses, holding them to the side until one of his entourage plucked them from his fingers. "Al-Cid Margrace, at your service. To think I stand before the Lady Ashe. It is truly an honor. " He knelt, scooping up one of the Princess's hands to kiss it. "I see it is true after all. Ah, stunning is Dalmasca's desert bloom."

To his right, Basch stiffened and to his left, Balthier crossed his arms over his chest. Harry glanced at each of them with a frown.

Anastasis's voice cut the momentary silence. "In Archadia, Larsa. In Rozarria, Al-Cid. They dream not of war. Should empire join with empire, the way will open for a new Ivalice in our time."

The conversation went on, with Ashe's naïve optimism clashing with Al-Cid's jaded reality. Harry did fidget now, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Ashe was getting frustrated, a flush over the bridge of her nose spreading across her cheekbones as she became more impassioned. Larsa, too, seemed exasperated with Al-Cid's constant contradictions.

"Then what?" Larsa said, hands cutting through the air. "If Lady Ashe were to extend her hand in friendship... perhaps I could then persuade the Emperor. His Excellency will solve things peacefully—"

There was a pause, and Al-Cid's jaw hardened. "The Emperor Gramis is no more. His life was taken."

"F-Father?"

Harry's heart went out to the boy. For all his maturity and eloquence, he _was_ still just a twelve year old child. He looked stricken, frozen in place. Harry carefully made his way through the group to Larsa's side, placing a hand on his shoulder in silent sympathy.

The world went on, however, and Al-Cid was driving his points home to a pale Ashe. "Let us suppose you approach the Empire with a peaceful resolution. The late Emperor Gramis would have lent you his ear, that much is certain. But we are dealing with Vayne Solidor. Should the Princess return, he would claim her an imposter. All to tempt the Resistance into battle. Vayne wants this war, that much is certain. As our ill luck would have it, the man is a military genius."

The Gran Kiltias was just as grim. "The dreams have told me thus. To reveal yourself would imperil us all. I see war, and Vayne's name writ bold on history's face."

Al-Cid went on, detailing military movings and preparations by the Archadian army. Harry slid his arm around Larsa's shoulder, the boy sagging into him at last. He made a quiet, choked sound.

"And then... the nethicite is the coup de grace," Ashe said with a trembling determination, and Harry glanced over to catch a look of fierce determination fall over her face. This did not bode well. "Gran Kiltias, Your Grace. I spoke to you of my succession. Let us put that aside. Should I become Queen of Dalmasca now, powerless as I am, I can protect nothing. With a greater power at my disposal, perhaps then…"

"It is the nethicite of which you dream?"

"I require something far greater."

Harry glared, eyes narrowed. "So we're doing this now, are we? What have I been saying _all along_, Ashe?" She turned to him, momentarily glancing down at Larsa's stricken face. "You're letting the nethicite get the better of you. So you want something more powerful than the nethicite? Then what happens when the Empire finds something more powerful than that?"

Ashe looked away. "I can do nothing whilst I am so powerless…"

"_Power_ from rocks doesn't make you a ruler, Ashe."

She met his eyes then, glaring, and Harry returned the glare with heat.

"You…" the Gran Kiltias turned, eyes still opened, frowning. "Your dream is one I have not dreamt. Who are you, young one? From where have you come?"

Harry met his gaze and shrugged as well as he could with an unresponsive child leaning into him. "My name is Harry Potter. And I'm not from anywhere near here."

Harry moved toward the dais behind Anastasis, maneuvering Larsa to sit. The boy placed his head in his hands and stared at the ground. Harry turned back to the others and nearly missed the way the Gran Kiltias watched him.

"This is not your dream, Harry Potter. You do not belong here."

The words stung a bit, despite not being meant as they were spoken. "I'm aware. If you have some insight to get me home, that would be great. Otherwise, I haven't got much of a choice but to be here."

"No, Harry Potter, I do not think you understand. _This is not your dream_. I have dreamt the dream of the Princess Ashelia and her cohorts, striving to save this land. You were not woven into the tapestry. You are an anomaly."

Harry flinched.

"Hey, that can't be right." It was Vaan who spoke, striding forward. "Harry's just as much a part of our group as any of us. He's one of us, dream or no dream."

Harry felt wobbly inside suddenly as even Ashe joined the group in nodding, accepting him as part of them. He met each of their eyes individually.

"Be that as it may," the Gran Kiltias said, "the dream I have dreamt for many years now unravels, all hinging on the presence of one being. How will this change the outcome? Will it be for good or for ill?"

Ashe held her head high. "I require the power to defeat the nethicite to cement my country's future. No matter the cost or whether you have dreamt its end. What advice do you have, Gran Kiltias?"

His lined face turned, meeting Ashe's eyes. "You have but one choice if this be the path you choose. Seek you the other power Raithwall left."

"Does such a thing exist?"

"Journey across the Paramina Rift to the Stilshrine of Miriam. There rests the gift he entrusted to the Gran Kiltias of his time. Seek it out. The Sword of Kings can cut through nethicite. Why he would entrust the power to destroy nethicite, the instrument of his greatness to another and not to his own progeny, I cannot say. Awaken Ashelia B'nargin and take up your sword, or your dream will remain but a dream."

Ashe pointedly did not meet his eyes as she spun in place and walked for the door, the others tentatively following suit. Penelo and Balthier paused and looked back towards him. "Aren't you coming, Harry?" Penelo called, wringing her hands.

He shook his head. "No, I don't think I will. I don't agree with what Ashe is doing, and I think that I'm more needed here than there." He looked pointedly back at Larsa, who still sat in silent stillness. "The mountain isn't treacherous; I'll just travel down to the merchants in a few hours and wait for you all to return so we can move on."

Balthier strode forward, lips pursed as he looked into Harry's eyes. "You're sure?"

"I am," Harry said. "It'll be fine, just be safe, all right? I'll see you in a bit."

The concern Balthier hardly tried to hide touched him deeply, and he couldn't even bring himself to be embarrassed as rough, calloused fingers closed around his own briefly, Balthier's thumb stroking across his palm. "We shall be back before nightfall."

"You can't promise that," Harry said with a laugh. "But I'll not get worried until then, okay?"

"Fortune to you, Harry. Until later."

Harry gave both him and Penelo a wave, and the two of them hurried to catch up with the group. Harry turned back towards Larsa, ignoring the once-more still Gran Kiltias, and went to sit by his side. It felt odd to be without the group, his constant companions day and night for… what? Six months, now? He toyed with the fraying edge of his shirtsleeve.

"You know… I lost my parents, too. I was really young at the time, but I still remember. I had to watch my mother be killed." He paused, not wanting to go down that grim line of thought. "But really, I just wanted to say… I know it hurts, but it doesn't hurt forever. Yell and scream if you need to – _cry_. Don't worry about propriety for a bit, all right? You're only _twelve_. I know you're in shock, but you deserve to grieve."

Larsa didn't respond or react in any way, and Harry sighed. What had made him think he could offer any kind of helpful advice? He hadn't known his parents like Larsa had known his father. But he couldn't bring himself to leave the boy to his grief.

"I believe that what he needs most is time to take it all in. I was not gentle in my reveal." Harry had forgotten about Al-Cid, and looked up with suspicion at him. The man waved his hands before him. "My friend, do not look at me so. Tough love is still love, after all. It would have done him no good to keep the truth from him or coat it in niceties."

Harry hummed as the man snapped his fingers, summoning over one of his attendants who laid down a square of cloth on the dais's edge. Al-Cid sat, dismissing the aide back to the water's edge.

"So, Emerald, where do you hail from? What made you decide to tag along with this ragtag bunch?"

Harry's eyebrow twitched at the nickname, but he ignored it. "Nowhere you'd have heard of, believe me. I got wrapped up in all this by chance."

Al-Cid looked unimpressed. "You're uncooperative."

"And you're nosy."

A laugh was his response, as was a smile full of gleaming white teeth. "Is that any way to speak to royalty, Emerald?"

"I suppose this means you ignored how I spoke to Ashe?"

"Indeed, this is true. You're aggravating, I can tell already."

Harry smirked. "Proudly." He stretched back, glancing over at Larsa to be sure he had not moved. "Royalty, hmm? It seems I'm surrounded these days."

"Admittedly not much of royalty. A prince of Rozarria does not mean much when there are nine other princes, you see? But I am in my father's good graces, and he at least entertains my fancies."

"What do you have in mind, then? For Ashe, I mean. You sweep in here speaking of peace, like Larsa… but what plans do you have?"

"To be frank, I would like her to come to Rozarria for her protection. I believe it will be best for her with Vayne in power; she is only in danger now that he has taken control." He was more serious now, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. Harry tried to look past the billowy short and leather-accented white breeches to see a man who was, indeed, royalty. "Before the unfortunate news of Emperor Gramis's demise, I had grand hopes of peace talks between all three countries, of a cease-fire that would spare our lands war. But such hopes were dashed when Vayne came in to power."

"You know she won't fall for that, don't you? Ashe is too strong willed to be taken for her protection."

"I feared as much. But I do not know what other options we have."

Harry sighed, looking up at the high windows in the hall. "War is inevitable now, isn't it?"

"I fear so, yes."

"You don't have a backup plan?"

"In a way, perhaps. Had the catastrophe be anything but Vayne coming to power, I had a thousand scenarios accounted for. But so long as Vayne is Emperor, they are for naught. He will not treaty, and his forcible removal will be the only way."

This was not surprising to him, but he supposed he had held a small hope of some brilliant plan. Ashe alone stood no chance against an army, but convincing her to go to Rozarria to come up with some kind of plan would be difficult. She was headstrong at the best of times, and though her intentions were for the best of her people, her pride was a foe in and of itself.

"My brother will never go quietly. He will need to be disposed of."

Harry turned with a frown, meeting the glassy, tired eyes of Larsa. "You seem all right with this."

"I am far from 'all right' with the idea of my brother's death, I assure you. But I have been raised to lead my people, groomed by the council as their chosen successor… birth order be damned. Vayne is no innocent; I am no fool. He killed my father to seize the throne and I am not so innocent or blind not to know this. Though he is blood, I know he must be removed for peace to have any chance in this world."

"But how?" Al-Cid said, gesturing to Larsa. "Would you bloody your hands, young friend?"

For a moment, the blank façade Larsa had been wearing cracked, revealing deep sadness and pain, but the twelve-year-old called up fortitude that none at his age should have to call on and looked away, lips pressed tightly. "I fear I am not quite so strong as that, Al-Cid. But I will not stand in the way of any whom do what needs to be done."

"Then all that remains is to whisk the Lady Ashe away and convince her of a plan I have not yet devised. Fantastic!"

Harry rolled his eyes at Al-Cid and rotated his body to face Larsa more, collecting his words. He met the boy's eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but the clanging of the door as it opened interrupted him.

Larsa stood quickly, hands clasped behind his back and a small smile tightly on his face. Silhouetted in the door was a broad man in ornate armor – a judge, Harry now knew – flanked by the two soldiers that had accompanied Larsa to Mt. Bur-Omisace. They strode down the hall swiftly, the clanking of their armor reverberating off the high ceiling. Larsa stood taller as they approached.

"My lord, I am glad you are well," the tinny voice said, surprisingly full of seemingly genuine care. "We must return to Archades for the funeral of the Emperor."

The boy flinched, but nodded. "As you say, Judge Gabranth. Let us make haste." He turned back to them momentarily and gave a smile that quivered just a bit. "Thank you both for your efforts and your company. Al-Cid, please keep be abreast of news, and Harry… thank you. I wish you luck in what comes for you, and I will try my utmost to take the wise advice you have given me."

As they left the hall, Al-Cid sighed at Harry's side. "I fear his kindness will be the end of him."

Harry hoped he was wrong, despite it all.

* * *

It had been barely an hour since Larsa had left, and Al-Cid and he had been conversing in between thoughtful silences, trying to decide on the best incentive to present to Ashe. The sounds were faint at first, easily disregarded, but soon the distant crash and roar became screams of terror and the distinct sound of gunshots. Harry leapt up with the Elder Wand already in hand.

"What's happening?"

His companion's face was grim, one of his attendants already running to his side to hand over his sunglasses. "It is Archadia."

"Astute, aren't you?"

They turned to the door to see another silhouette in the open door. "I fear you chose the worst possible place to be today. The loss of innocents and bystanders is a pity, of course… but inevitable in battle." The Judge drew his sword, stepping towards them menacingly. The lengthening shadows of afternoon cast his helmet in gaunt relief.

Al-Cid sighed, fingers raking through his hair. "When we must, we must, yes? I am not one to lay down without a fight, I fear."

Harry immediately flicked a Blasting curse at the Judge, who stumbled back with a startled shout. "I'm really not either. I hope you have some tricks up your sleeve."

The Prince laughed, tossing back his head. "I hate to be cliché, but you are precisely correct." With a flourish he reached into his left sleeve and extracted a gourd, tossing it at the rallying group of soldiers. It exploded in a flash of blinding light and several of the group screamed.

"Have you been waiting for someone to ask that precise question all your life, or what?" Harry dove to the side as a guard rushed him, sword thrusting. He cast a Jelly-legs jinx to make him lose his footing and leapt to his own feet.

Al-Cid grinned and cast an ice spell of some sort on the temple's floor, causing several of the soldiers to fall to the floor.

In the repartee, Harry missed the charging of the Judge, but he didn't miss the searing pain as his sword drove through his shoulder just beneath his collarbone. He screamed, the pain sending him to his knees, and only his sense of self-preservation made him roll to the side in time to miss a second blow, which chipped the marble flooring with its force.

He caught a glimpse of Al-Cid darting around attacks thrown from the armored soldiers, but Harry worried even as he steeled himself and shot a _Defodio_ at an approaching enemy, looking away as the wave of sound burrowed through the thick armor and through the man's ck far less quickly than was fair to even an attacker.

Harry dove into the water to avoid a strong fire spell that raced at his head, choking as he sucked in a reflexive breath before he had surfaced. The Judge caught him by the neck and slammed him back under in the shallow pool, his head impacting hard enough to bring stars into his vision. He tripped him only by sheer luck in his flailing, but the Judge was recovering quickly.

"Emerald, this is not going well!"

Harry tried to aim his wand at the Judge to find it no longer in his hand, and with blurry eyes and sluggish movement he felt along the pool's bed for it. He caught a glimpse of Al-Cid with a bloody nose ripping out a potion's cork with his teeth, dodging the four guards still conscious that pursued him. It _wasn't_ going well, and Harry could feel the slowing, numbing terror of danger chilling his insides.

He ripped his gun from its holster, thankful suddenly for the _Impervious_ charms he had cast on both his and Balthier's guns, and fired blindly towards the approaching armor, eyes clenched shut despite all Balthier had taught him. It seemed, to him, that the battle froze momentarily, though he knew that could not be true.

Fingers closed around his biceps and he nearly lashed out, but at the last moment he opened his eyes, sagging.

"Now what's this, luv? I thought you were in for an uneventful afternoon whilst we gallivanted?"

Harry choked on a laugh, letting Balthier's leverage pull him to his feet. He noted the unmoving armor that had been his pursuer and turned away, slightly ill. He swayed and was steadied by a hand on his hip and one still gripping his arm. "Sorry, they dropped in unexpectedly for tea. Rude to turn them away."

The battle had not ceased, and Harry spied Basch, Ashe, and Penelo taking on the survivors while Fran and Vaan tended to Al-Cid. Harry closed his eyes and let Balthier pull him into his side. "Come, luv, let's sit you down."

Balthier's warmth stayed close to him, warding off the chill of the water he was still soaked in. He barely took in the last dregs of battle as he tried not to shift his left arm, blood cooling on his skin.

Nearby, Harry belatedly noticed the Gran Kiltias standing statue-still in the same position that he had been, two corpses at his feet. As the soothing wash of Cure ran over him and stopped the bleeding of his shoulder, he stood and approached him, teeth chattering and a muttering Balthier at his side.

The voice echoed through the chamber as his party gathered. "Do you see, Harry Potter? Your mere presence changes all. This battle was meant to be won by your cohorts, my dream ended. Yet here I stand. What else will you change merely by existing where you should not? Will history be improved or destroyed by your impediment?"

Harry closed his eyes and leaned heavily against Balthier, laughing in a short, weak huff. "Only time will tell, right?"

"Indeed. For better or for worse."


	7. Excited and Scared

Disclaimer: JKR and Square own the rights to all characters contained herein.

* * *

**Embracing Absurdism  
**_And he made me feel excited… well, excited and scared._

* * *

"Please, Princess. You must permit me to take you back with me to Rozarria."

Ashe immediately gained a mulish look, jaw set. "So that you can protect me? I'm no damsel in distress, Al-Cid."

Harry was vaguely hypnotized by Balthier's impatient finger tapping against his hip, more for comfort than support. He was totally exhausted, but a Cure from Penelo had done wonders for his physical state. His shoulder was still stiff, he wanted to sleep more than he'd wanted anything in a long while, but he tried to keep his mind on the ongoing conversation between royalty.

Al-Cid had started out well, casual, asking Ashe non-threatening questions. But Harry could only sigh as the man's impatience obviously got the better of him as he segued clumsily into the heart of the matter.

And just as they had thought, Ashe shot it down.

Harry watched the frown settle on Al-Cid's face before he forced it off, dipping low and grasping Ashe's hand. "I would lay down my life at a single word to be sure... but I harbor no maundering delusions of valiant grandeur." He held her hand tightly, and Ashe looked discomfited. "Vayne has our War Pavilion jumping at shadows. They favor a pre-emptive strike. But you - you will convince them otherwise. You will see that they do not start this war."

Balthier's hand left his hip, and Harry couldn't help a frown as Penelo took up the task of keeping him upright, her much smaller frame pulling him close. Balthier gave an arch look to the pair. "I am sure this is entirely selfless on your part."

"No," Al-Cid said plainly. "I am an honest man, and this is most certainly just as selfish as it is altruistic. This endless bickering has harmed my people as well, driven wedges between my family members, and I wish for it to end. There is no happiness in store for Archades, Rozarria, or Dalmasca if this goes to open war. I beg this of the Princess for us all, myself included."

Harry tried to ignore the vaguely ill, clawing sensation in his gut that had suddenly appeared since Balthier had stepped away to focus instead on Ashe extracting her hand from Al-Cid. "This I cannot do. Forgive me. But my errand here is not yet done. I must wield the Sword of Kings, and with it bring an end to the Dusk Shard."

Harry gritted his teeth, catching the way that Ashe very specifically avoided his eyes. Penelo's arm around him tightened, and he glanced back to see a deep, worried frown adorning her face. She felt the same, at least.

"More talk of stones, then," Al-Cid said with a barely veiled sneer. "Where would you even find such a thing?"

"I can venture a guess." Balthier strode to Ashe's side, slipping on a cocky smirk that made Harry's innards boil. "Draklor Laboratory in Archades; the Empire's weapon's research begins and ends there. How soon do we leave?"

"Truly?" Harry spat, irritated and ruffled for reasons he only understood half of. "We're just all going to jump on the 'get a rock for power' train?" A few confused looks from his party made clear that they had no idea what a train was, but he ignored it. "You're all being utter idiots!"

Ashe puffed up with righteous rage then, Balthier's hand on her shoulder keeping her from charging towards him. "What right do you have to judge? You have no stake here! You don't even come from this _world_, Harry. Like the Gran Kiltas said, you're rearranging things without having any idea of the ramifications. This stone is the only chance I have to set things right! The stone has nothing to do with power, and everything to do with freeing my people from tyranny. You will not stand in my way because you have some kind of half-formed opinions on a world you know nothing about!"

It stung, deeply, and Harry reeled back, dislodging Penelo's hands from him. When he responded it was slowly, in a low voice, and his eyes stayed on the floor. "I only have what I see to go on. And what I see is someone making short-sighted decisions that are going bite her in the arse. Go to Archades, if that really seems the best path to you, but you are making a mistake. You have just been offered an alternative course, a way to have allies in your fight. A way to avoid bloodshed for his people _and_ your people. Why are you so against giving a chance to that path?"

Harry glanced up at Balthier as he finished speaking, angry at him for no reason he could discern. Balthier flinched at whatever the look Harry gave looked like to receive. He then looked away, grim and serious, but he dropped his hand from Ashe's shoulder.

Basch had been silent through the exchange, but stepped forward now. "My lady, though I will follow no matter what your path may be, may I suggest something?"

She shot a narrow-eyed look to him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Go on."

"Closing avenues, even dubiously proper ones," Basch glanced then at Al-Cid, who stood unflappable and smug, "would not be wise at this point in our venture. Perhaps we see through this trip to Archades first, and then we turn our attentions to travel to Rozarria?"

Harry was disgruntled and was quite sure his expression showed it, but if he did not compromise he would be just as bad as Ashe was being. He gave a stiff nod when Basch looked his way, showing his agreement with this plan.

Ashe, on the other hand, just frowned. "Do you think that wise, Basch? What good would straying now bring us? We are so very close to our goal…"

"We have ideas, guesses, and possibilities. There is no goal truly in sight." Fran waved a hand dismissively.

Ashe continued frowning, but looked down at the ground, her frown turning contemplative rather than hostile.

"It wouldn't be too bad, right?" Vaan said, uncharacteristically hesitant. "I mean, it doesn't mean we have to do it his way, just that we're willing to try."

Ashe looked to the boy and softened, her arms dropping to her sides. She did not speak, but cut her eyes to Basch and nodded, once, succinctly.

Balthier clapped a hand to Basch's shoulder, chortling. "Well then, to Archades it is, then a long flight into the lovely deserts of Rozzaria. Fine spirits, fine women, and plenty of overflowing pockets to seek out." He turned towards Harry and smiled, but Harry couldn't bring himself to return it. He turned away, swaying slightly, focusing instead on the wall of the temple.

Al-Cid chuckled, but it was a dry sound. "So be it. Shall I send a ship to meet you? I cannot stay from our capital long, but I have sway over a few High Merchants who could be persuaded to lend their time."

Harry did not turn back when Balthier answered, but he saw the roll of Fran's eyes as he spoke. "No need. My ship is more than able to see us through when the time has come, you only need give me the coordinates for our rendezvous."

"And her designation? I would need to grant you clearance in our airs."

This time Harry did turn a bit, peeking past his errant fringe at the tense way Balthier held himself. "The Strahl."

A smirk was Al-Cid's only reaction. "Indeed, Sky Pirate. I thought that to be the case. I shall see to it that you are not impeded on your journey." With a snap of his fingers one of his assistants ran forward, clipboard raised like a shield. With a quick scribble she produced the needed coordinates for Balthier and handed them over, retreating without a word. "My leave I take. Princess. Emerald. Pirate. Good travels to you all."

Harry watched him leave, framed by the crumbling pillars at the entry and wreathed in sunset, then followed; he did not look back to see the concerned looks on the faces of several of his companions.

* * *

They set back up in the same alcove under the eaves, everyone quiet and stiff. There was little conversation as they worked to set up camp, everyone giving Harry a wide berth as he jabbed his wand this way and that, directing wood into the firepit and throwing vicious flames to light them.

At one point, Penelo tried to coax him to speak, but something in his face had made her voice trail off and her hands clasp over her heart. He nearly relented then, disliking that he had put such a sad, lost look in the girl's eyes, but he was so frustrated that he couldn't bring himself to.

Damn Ashe and her stubbornness. Damn the others for following so blindly. Damn Balthier for… for….

Why was he so angry? Harry paused in mid motion and his arms went to his side. This was just the same argument they'd all had a hundred times in the last month, perhaps a bit more fierce, but nothing that should make him feel quite so much like snarling.

The priests had given them what meat they could spare, though with the refugees that was not much. But it was more than they would have had otherwise, and Fran seemed intent on combining it all into a thick, warm stew to warm them. The whistling of the wind through the mountains here was high and endless. At the moment, she was doing this while Balthier sat beside her with a small knife cutting some kind of vegetable into pieces. He had a deep frown on his lips as he did so, his motions rather rough and heavy-handed.

As Harry watched, Fran's hand shot out and grabbed Balthier by the wrist, forcing him to drop the small knife and taking it from him. He could not hear what she said to him, but it caused Balthier to give a wry, dark, curve of his lips and set down his task, palms going to rub against his face in a frustrated motion.

There was no story time this night, though Vaan ventured to ask for it while they ate. Harry held his breath to keep any harsh rebuttals from coming out, instead just shaking his head briefly and moving towards his sleeping area. Seeing Balthier there, scowling as he fought again with the fastenings on his vest, nearly made Harry seek out a new place to sleep.

But he wasn't that petty. At least he hoped he wasn't.

Harry lowered himself to his knees and silently batted Balthier's fingers away from the small, knotted bits of cord, unfastening them quickly and straightening out the beaded ends. Balthier looked up and opened his mouth as if to speak, but somehow he seemed to accept the silence and closed it and his eyes as well, sighing through his nose. Harry turned away and began straightening his bedding.

It wasn't long before even the half-hearted mumbling between the others died out and everyone settled in, the soft sounds of deep breathing and light snoring replacing it. Harry lay on his side facing Fran's back, frowning and wondering if he would find rest that night. His chest felt tight from the obvious tension he was creating within their group but he just couldn't abide by something this—this—

Harry buried his head beneath the blankets and found himself tense and ready to lash out. How could Ashe be so stupid? He didn't care what traditions there were in the world, the nethicite couldn't possibly solve her problems. If nothing else, it would only increase the trouble they would have to go through to resolve the impending war. Why couldn't she see sense? Why were the others going along with it so easily?!

Harry gasped as he was broken from his reverie by a warm arm snaking around him and yanking him back. He held himself taught as Balthier leaned his forehead against the back of Harry's neck, his breath hot and distracting against his nape.

"I am sorry for whatever has enraged you so, Harry. I know not—no, that is untrue. You have my sincerest regrets for not standing resolute in the face of Ashe's stubbornness, for not supporting you when I agree so deeply with your worries. I am sorry for not being by your side to stand firm with you, to show you that I believe in you."

Harry's breath caught and held, and he damned himself for how weak he felt suddenly.

"You have becomes something of a backbone amongst us, luv. You must see that. Your strangeness and newness has been a unifying force, allowing us to all see that our differences matter little in light of a drive to succeed. You have no stake in any of this… but that is not something to look down on. That you still stand beside us and fight for our freedom shows that even those from different worlds may find common ground, so why not those just across mere borders?"

Harry wanted to speak up and deny that he was not so altruistic, that he only stayed because he felt so strongly that Balthier and Fran were his anchors here, that he had grown so fond of other members of their party. But he could not, not when Balthier's hand shook against his chest, not when that arm tightened and pressed him hard back against the other man as if he clung to him for sanity.

That arm retreated suddenly, but Harry did not move away and neither did Balthier. Fingers pressed gently at his spine, tracing the line of it down and up again, slow and soothing. "Let this night be the end of this, and let us begin anew come morning, as I fear we have enough strife to face without such turmoil amongst us as well. Please, Harry, accept this. I shall go mad if you cannot."

As if the fight had drained out of him, Harry went limp against him, curling his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching back, feeling aged and wooden. "Yes," he breathed, curling into himself and closing his eyes, Balthier's gentle fingers and steady breathing lulling him to sleep.

He woke still pressed there come morning, feeling more rested than he had in weeks.

* * *

The trees grew thinner and the air warmed as they finally exited the Salikawood after a week's journey, rested after a night beneath its boughs without interruption. They had had several interrupted nights previous to that, and though no one had mentioned that stilted evening in Bur-Omisace, the tension from it had still colored their interactions for days. The night before, though, Harry had suddenly begun speaking and had regaled them all with his third year and meeting Sirius, of the use of the time-turner and coming out ahead at the end of the night. It was like an invisible wall had broken, and everything had fallen back into place.

After the story and a night of uninterrupted rest, everyone seemed to be more cheered than they had been in quite some time now, and the beautiful weather only added to this. The youngest of their group were in high spirits that morning, dashing ahead of the rest and laughing gaily.

"Bet you can't catch me!" Vaan called, tapping Basch and running ahead.

"Nor do I have a wish to."

"Aww, that's no fun at all. How about you, Princess?"

Ashe looked up from where she had been looking into the sparse trees, blinking. "Excuse me?"

"Try to catch me!"

She seemed at a loss, and Penelo gripped her wrist to pull her along with bright laughter. "Come on, Ashe. You have to let go sometimes!"

The Princess's demeanor was still confused as she was roped into dashing energetically with Penelo and Vaan, but by the fond, warm look in Basch's eyes, Harry thought it was likely a good thing.

Beside him, Fran hummed a tune uncharacteristically, swaying as she walked.

"You're oddly cheery," Harry said, smiling up to her.

"The alive things here are happy," she said softly, trailing long nails over a knotted vine hanging from overhead. "They sing with delight for the sun, for the morning mist, for the onset of summer. It is hard to be any less when surrounded by their joy."

Harry didn't see anything other than plants; healthy plants, sure, but nothing more than that. But then, Harry didn't have some ingrained biological link to the world's shrubbery or whatever it was that made Fran able to sense and hear the forests, so he supposed his view didn't matter much. He smiled gently to her, entranced by the lilting, broken melody she continued to hum.

He tried not to keep an eye flicking to the way that Balthier watched Vaan, Penelo, and Ashe with a soft look on his face, but he couldn't help himself. There was something in the man all at once fragile and steel-like in strength, the set of his mouth conveying a million worries and admonishments but his eyes keeping them from going further.

Basch had taken up the tune with Fran, softly singing in his deep baritone to accompany her hums; apparently the tune was a familiar one. Harry drifted along in the warming morning, trailing just a bit behind everyone, trying to tamp down on the familiar loneliness he had been losing bit by bit in the last weeks. There was so much of this world he was sure he would never really understand. So many things a native of a place took for granted that he would be questioning for the rest of his life.

Harry wondered when he'd started seeing Ivalice as his new permanent location, when he'd stopped looking for ways to go home.

"_Destiny_," Balthier said, nudging him with his hip as he fell back to walk alongside him. "The tune they follow. It oft accompanies stories of upheaval and great inner strength in theatre and orchestra."

Harry couldn't help the way he stopped in his tracks, staring at the man who so nonchalantly stepped in whenever he was needed, and he rubbed absently at the sinking burn that swelled in his chest. Balthier paused and raised an eyebrow, smile soft.

Harry shook himself and hurried to catch up, his face heating and Balthier watching him knowingly. But it seemed he took pity on him eventually, looking away and humming at the back of his throat. "Well, all is quiet, the children are occupied, and our keepers have lost themselves in nature," he said with a flourish towards where Fran and Basch were quite some distance ahead, both in their own worlds. "What are Mummy and Daddy to do with all this alone time?" It was said so salaciously that Harry's breathing caught and he nearly ran into a tree.

He struggled to regain his composure. "I'll only agree to your silliness if I can be Daddy. No way will you relegate me to being the woman."

Balthier's laugh was delighted. "Ah, that's not quite the response I expected, but well enough. I am rather the more fashion-conscious and delicate of the two of us, I suppose," he said with a wink. "Shall we play a game, then?"

"Well then, Mummy," Harry said wryly, "what would you like to play?"

"An answer for an answer, does that seem fair?"

Harry regarded the man warily, nearly tripping over a rock as he paid more attention to watching him from the corner of his eye than to the path before him. "I think you have ulterior motives, my lady."

"When do I not?" It was said with a smirk in it, though there was no expression on Balthier's face. "Come now, luv, play with me."

"What's your favorite color?" Harry said, hoping to start off the game innocuous and keep it there.

"Green," Balthier said without pause, not even a glance in Harry's direction. Harry's heart clenched anyway. "If you could do any one of your spells you knew of but never learned, what would it be?"

"Temperature-modulating charms… ones to warm or cool a person in inclement weather. What is your favorite food?"

"Stuffed Cockatrice. That's a bird," he clarified when Harry cocked an eyebrow. He skipped over the root of a tree that was snaking over their path as punctuation, walking momentarily backwards to look Harry in the eye. "If you could have any one item with you here from your world, what would it be?"

Harry was silent for a moment, grimacing as a million possibilities flew past his mind's eye. "I'm… not certain, actually. My invisibility cloak would be most useful – yes, that is exactly what it sounds like – but I think I'd like my photo album more. It was a gift, my very first gift, and had a lot of pictures of my parents in it. I'd added to it over the years with some newspaper articles and pictures of those I cared about, too, so it would be nice to have those memories." _To no longer have their faces blurring in my mind_, Harry added mentally.

"Your first gift? How old were you?"

Harry smiled sadly and looked away. "Not your turn."

Balthier made a disagreeing noise in the back of his throat but Harry was quicker.

"Where are _your_ parents?"

Balthier jerked, nearly tripping over himself as he wheeled around to stare at Harry, hard and blank. Harry had never seen the man look like this and regretting his hasty, petty question instantly. "My mother is dead, has been dead for years. As for—"

"Nevermind, Balthier, I shouldn't have asked."

"We set no rules on questions."

Harry shook his head. "That doesn't mean I can't take something back."

Balthier's face sagged with his shoulders, and he looked immensely tired all of a sudden. He stopped entirely and faced Harry, frown deepening the faint lines bracketing his mouth. "Yes, well—"

Harry would wonder in the hours to come what Balthier might have said, what real, frank honesty he might have finally gotten from the man had Vaan not interrupted with excited cries about the beach they'd come upon. The mask flew back up over Balthier's expression and he was all insincere smirks once more, leaving Harry feeling more bereft than he could describe.

"This is so great! The sand is warm, there are people all over, the water is _so pretty_. Come on, slowpokes! Hurry up!"

Balthier shrugged at him and his long legs carried him past Vaan, swatting the boy on the shoulder. "Be more courteous when interrupting Mummy and Daddy, they were busy."

Vaan goggled after him and shot Harry an incredulous look, to which Harry couldn't help but laugh in response. "Listen to your Mummy, Vaan."

Balthier's laugh rang across the beach.

* * *

The sunset at the Phon Coast was beyond lovely, Harry thought. It was almost surreal, the vivid pinks, purples, and oranges that streaked across the sky like a borealis. He itched at his leg where dried-on sand clung to the hair at his ankles, unsure if he would ever feel free of sand again. That didn't stop him from flopping onto his back to soak in the last of the sun-warmed relaxation, wiggling until his body sunk just a bit into the grains.

He turned until he could see the rest of his party, spread out though they were. Fran was fashioning fletching near the newly-built bonfire with Basch and Penelo beside her; it looked like Basch was telling a tale by the way Penelo sat wide-eyed and rapt. Vaan was down by the shoreline with a sharpened stick, still intent on finding more fish that none of them had enough room in their bellies for.

Harry very much did not look beyond the bonfire to where Balthier and Ashe stood at the treeline, heads bowed and all serious, tense lines. They had been there for an hour and Harry did not want to acknowledge the tight, clawing feeling in his gut as he watched them.

As the sun finally made its way down past the horizon, the last dregs of colored light fading from the sky, Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the salty air. Here, there was no real fear of anything. The monsters stayed back due to the guarded perimeter and known human habitation. Since it seemed to be a very "tourist" sort of location, there was little in the way of poverty or crime, as it only existed to serve the rich or the adventurous. The weather was mild, the sea air fresh, the wildlife gentle.

It was a bit frightening.

Harry was uncomfortable in such a caricature of perfection. He feared what the flaw would be, and that it would be a huge one. He was glad they were leaving in the morning.

In the meantime, though, he was content to drift half between waking and sleep, listening to the waves crash on the shore as the tide came in. It was rare that any rest they had was truly restful, rare that they could actual remove their armor and accoutrements and let their guards down.

"The tide's going to drown you if you try to sleep there, ya know."

Harry's eyes fluttered open and he glared half-heartedly at Vaan. "Maybe I'm trying to kill myself."

"Uh huh, so you like drawing out pain? Masochist."

Harry laughed and pushed himself into a sitting position. Vaan dropped down into an odd crouch beside him, pointed stick balancing between his legs. "Why're you all alone over here? I figured you'd be by the fire with the others, or at least with Balthier. You're always with him, aren't you?"

Harry felt uncomfortable and looked away from Vaan's earnest expression. "He's busy, and it was quiet over here."

Vaan glanced back over his shoulder and made an odd humming noise. "You know it isn't like that with him and the Princess, right? Well, for Balthier at least. I dunno how girls think and the Princess is weirder than most, so who knows with her. But seriously," Vaan's eyes were pinning him, and all the arguments and denials he was compiling fell away. "Don't worry about it. You know you're his favorite."

Harry laughed uncomfortably and looked away, determinedly not acknowledging the conversation. "Any luck with the fish?"

Vaan grinned then, the uncommon moment of serious frankness falling away. "Yep, loads. We have a nice stockpile going now for the road. I was tired of all the gruel and berries and stuff that we've been stuck with. I figured having some extra meat would be nice for a couple of days. Any chance you could wave your stick and make them stay cold?"

Harry thought about it and tapped his lip in consideration. He didn't know any chilling charms, nor did he know any of the spells usually used for refrigeration and the keeping of food. But he remembered, while they were camping in the Forest of Dean on the hunt for the Horcruxes, a spell Hermione had set he and Ron to casting. It was supposed to slow down decomposition or something, so they cast it on the meager fruit they could gather and the small meat pies they'd taken to stealing from the muggle world when the hunger got to be too much. It didn't last long, but it helped a bit.

"I can make them last a little longer, at least. Where are they?"

Vaan led him towards the fire, where the entirety of the rest of their party had now gathered. He led him to a small saltwater pit Vaan had dug out that held the various fish and crustaceans he had gathered. Really, there was more there than the group could eat in a week and much more than Harry could keep preserved, but the excess was nice.

Harry laid the fish out flat and traced his wand in an ever-diminishing spiral along them, muttering the incantation over and over as he did until he reached the center. There was no effect that was obvious, but he could feel the magic working and told Vaan so. The boy crowed in happiness.

"Well then, Harry," said Ashe from where she was sharpening her sword. Harry blinked up at her, startled. "I believe you left off in the summer before your fourth year of schooling?"

He smiled wanly at what was obviously a capitulation on her part, an attempt to clear the air between them. He settled in at his usual place beside Fran, staring into the fire and making himself comfortable. "Well then, better begin now so I don't get too drowsy. It started out like it was going to be a relatively normal year, but that probably should have been my first clue that something huge was going to happen…"

* * *

"I still don't know why I have to follow you around. All I'm doing is waiting outside while you run and talk to people."

Balthier shrugged a shoulder, turning his face down as a guard passed by. "Your accent is Archadian. Outsiders without chops are watched too closely for anyone else to be of use, but you blend in fine." A hand on Harry's wrist pulled him to the edge of a building, and he sucked in a breath as Balthier swore. "That was close. Come, I have one more stop I must make."

"We have traveled in many towns and you've not been this paranoid. Why would you be so much more recognizable here? Surely it's not just the bounty on your head."

Though he couldn't see Balthier's face as the man walked in front of him, he could hear the wry amusement in the man's voice. "Astute, Harry."

"That isn't an answer, Balthier."

"This_ is_ my hometown, though a home it never has been. I'm... rather well-known here." A pause while Balthier turned and grinned, looking for all the world like they were having an everyday conversation while keeping his head turned from the guards to their left. They passed without incident. "My father has eyes in many places, and I would rather he not know I am here until it is too late for any action."

"Father?" Harry's steps faltered, and he found himself jogging a bit to catch back up with Balthier's long strides. Memories of their walk to Phon Coast sprung into his mind at once, the bitter, resigned exhaustion that had lined Balthier's face. He was cautious as he asked, "You have family here, then?"

A harsh laugh from ahead of him. "Family is a relative term. My father and I have rarely seen eye to eye, even less so since I absconded to become what I am."

"A pirate, you mean?"

Balthier slowed and stopped in front of a building, turning and giving Harry a flippant grin. "Among other things." Harry wanted to shake him until he dropped that stupid, fake expression and force him to just be _real_ for once.

"Master Balthier, the heralding of your return has already begun."

Harry whirled on his heel, glaring at the man they'd met in Lower Archades. Balthier slipped in front of him with a hard frown, a look Harry had rarely seen on his face. "Oh? And just how would such information come to light, Jules?"

"T'was no work of mine. But whispers of the return of the prodigal son have already begun, and I have seen guards taking second and third looks at any man fitting your description. I think the element of surprise has been lost to you."

Balthier cursed, fists trembling at his sides. "If I find that you had any part in this, Jules, I will string you up by your toenails in the Cave Palace and let the Abysteel have you."

"Now, now, Master Ffamran – forgive me, I mean Master Balthier – you know that is not my way. But as it is, you should gather your group and make haste into Draklor. Your father is not a patient man."

Harry stepped forward and laid a hand on Balthier's back, frowning at the tense vibrations in the other man's muscles. He had so rarely been witness to his friend being anything but calm and collected, unconcerned even, when dealing with people outside their small group. It was not a pleasant change.

Slowly he felt Balthier relax under his hand, the man's usual posture returning as he leveled a piercing look on Jules. "You shall do me a favor, friend. Find my companions and send them here. By the time they arrive, I will be ready." He dug in his pocket until he had found a small, intricately carved piece of wood, something Harry had come to understand was a status symbol in this strange town. "Give them this Chop and send them up."

Jules didn't look pleased with being relegated to messenger boy, but he bowed over his arm nonetheless. "I wish you luck, good sir."

"Of course you do," Balthier said with a snort. "What do you expect for your silence?"

The man gave an altogether smarmy grin. "Never you mind, Master Ffamran. We'll discuss payment at a later date."

Then the streetear was disappearing into the crowds, leaving Balthier staring after him with a moue of disgust. Harry attempted to bring levity to the situation. "Ffamran, huh? No wonder you changed your name."

He was rewarded with a laugh from his friend, who turned and gave him a mock glare. "You would insult a man in his moment of weakness? I didn't think you were so low, Harry."

"I wouldn't insult most people, but you're a special case."

A slow grin spread over Balthier's lips, and a hand reached out to thoroughly muss Harry's hair. He looked as if he was about to retort when all color drained from his face, his eyes fixed on a point over Harry's shoulder. "Blast it all!"

Harry bit down a yelp of pain as his wrist was gripped hard, yanking him into the narrow space between buildings and shoved back against one. He groaned as his skull made contact with the wall.

"Be silent! The captain of the city guard comes; he was a sycophant of my father's when I was younger, and he knows my face well." Harry tried not to squirm as the words were murmured against his neck, the full weight of his companion pressing him into the wall. "Try to look like you're enjoying something, would you? He has a bit of a fear of sodomites, so he'll not come to investigate if you don't look like I'm harming you."

Harry hissed under his breath, hands already pushing at the man's shoulders. "What?! How in the bloody hell do you expect me to-"

Harry cut off with a strangled gasp as teeth pressed against his neck, a tongue following soon after. The voice against his neck was hardly more than a whisper. "I'd rather make you uncomfortable than get us caught. My father is a powerful man in this city, more so than he would know what to do with most of the time." Harry was suddenly thankful for the force of weight Balthier put against him, as his knees turned to jelly when the mouth on his neck sucked on his pulse. "If he realizes that I am here in malice and not merely stopping over, he will have the city put on lockdown. Even with our strength we could not manage to take on all the guards of Archades."

Harry could hear the contingent of guards moving along the walkway, hear the questions being asked of the passersby. But very little mattered when that mouth moved from his neck to his ear, teeth tugging briefly at the lobe and hot breath making Harry's eyes roll back.

"Come on, Harry," Balthier whispered, "make this convincing."

Hips pressed hard against his, Balthier's damnable mouth moving over his neck. Harry was mortified to find himself reacting, eyes clenching shut and jaw falling slack. Balthier's tongue traced a line across his jaw, fingers tightening on Harry's hips. Harry felt dizzy, heart pounding as his blood pooled in places it had no right to be going to as he was pressed into a wall by his very male companion. He forced himself not to moan as teeth once again pressed into his neck, hips bucking forward against his will.

A dark chuckle came from Balthier. "There you are, luv. _That_ is believable."

Hips pressed into him again, friction sending electric sparks up Harry's spine. His humiliation only grew as he realized that his erection had to be obvious to Balthier. The man knew he was aroused and had yet to stop. Harry's hands clenched on Balthier's shoulders, torn between shoving the man away and not caring of the consequences or pulling him closer to gain more of the euphoric feelings.

One of Balthier's hands smoothed roughly over his hip before finding purchase on his backside, yanking him up and closer yet. Harry gasped audibly as his feet left the ground, one kicking out to prop against the opposite wall while the other was gripped by Balthier and drawn over his hip. That same hand travelled up the length of Harry's thigh and under his top, bare skin igniting flashes of terror and arousal in him stronger than anything ever had.

Balthier's lips travelled along his jaw, the scent of him heavy around Harry. He could hardly breathe as he forced his eyes open to meet Balthier's, breath fanning against his lips and his own fingers somehow having found their way to grip the back of the man's head. Harry could hardly believe how close they were, and damn it all he leaned into him, lips brushing teasingly in the darkness, the hands on him tightening painfully, Balthier's eyes like fire as they stared at him.

"Somebody's down this way, boss."

The reality of the situation crashed down hard on Harry, and he was horrified to realize it only made him harder. He choked down a cry as an answering erection pressed hard against his own, grinding down on him frantically. He pushed back, he couldn't help it, muscles clenching and the leg thrown around Balthier attempting to bring him closer still.

"Eh? Well, well, well, do we have a hider, then?"

Balthier's cheek rubbed against his, stubble scratching his skin. "Make it count, luv."

He didn't think he could consciously control the way his face looked right now as Balthier kept up the slow, hard rhythm, but by the startled exclamation of whoever was drawing near, he must have done a decent enough job.

"Cor, never mind. It's a couple o' shirtlifters, Captain."

"Eh, let's move on," the man said in a rushed voice. "Sure it isn't who we're looking for anyway."

"Are you sure, sir? Maybe it's a distraction or some such."

The voices were moving away, something that Harry was thankful for even as he held himself with painful tension, knuckles white where they clenched Balthier's shoulders.

"Are you questioning me?"

"N-No, sir!"

"Then let's move on."

Harry muzzily tracked them until the clanking of metal armor faded, but_Balthier did not stop_. Harry couldn't ask him to, not when the heat licked so deliciously at him, ripping gasps from his throat as the hand on his backside squeezed and the friction became frantic, jagged. Harry heard a keening, high noise of desperation and realized it was his own voice, fingers clenched in the short hairs at Balthier's neck and breathing no longer possible.

Then teeth were sinking into his shoulder and everything was white behind his newly-closed eyelids, the warm, solid body against him jerking once, twice more before the world went still.

It was like a bubble had popped. All tension drained away leaving Harry feeling distinctly like gelatin, wobbly and unstable. Harry sagged, feeling Balthier do the same and press his forehead to Harry's shoulder. Harry could feel the way the man's breathing stuttered and gasped against the damp skin of his neck, the spasms in his fingertips as they stayed, boneless and silent, for long minutes in the dingy alley.

Oh gods, what had he done? Harry felt panic engulfing him quickly, uncontrollable shaking making itself known in his limbs. He had just... _rutted_ with a _man_ in an alley! Never mind that it had begun as a way to throw off pursuers, Harry had enjoyed it far too much for that to matter at all. He had enjoyed it. He had actively participated; he had achieved orgasm and he was not stupid enough to think that was not a mutual thing. Sweet Merlin. Every blush, lingering glance, and brush of skin came back to him then in rapid succession, the previous months suddenly feeling like nothing but a leadup to this very moment, sweaty and sticky and pressed knee to shoulder against this man, terrified out of his mind.

"Right, we need to meet the others at the air car station," Balthier said suddenly, pulling back and keeping his eyes off of Harry and instead pointing them back towards the street. "Do you think you are capable of moving?"

Harry closed his eyes, trying to keep himself upright of his own volition as Balthier stepped away. How could he act as if nothing had happened? Harry wanted to beat his head against the wall... or run far, far away. As it was, though, Harry nodded tightly. "I'm fine."

As Balthier began walking away, Harry noted that the scent of the spiced soap he insisted on buying at every stop clung to Harry's skin now, a rich and cloying scent he had come to associate with warmth and companionship now just feeling dirty and sensual. He shuddered and forced himself to move away from the wall, trailing after Balthier with quick, short steps.

He might be rather oblivious, but he liked to think there came a time with every issue that he could just no longer ignore things. And suddenly now every interaction he'd ever had with the man felt like a dance to take him here, a slow build into something that could very well break him to pieces.

As they exited the alley, shading their eyes in the sudden brightness and Balthier still very distinctly not meeting Harry's eyes, he could only wonder if this culmination of all the awkward, tense moments would be worth it, or if it would lose him someone he realized was one of the most important people he had.

* * *

A/N: There's no true excuse for the wait other than real life. I love you all, thanks for your continuing support, you always make my day worth doing.


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